


Bring It On Home

by crushing83



Series: The Zeppelin Bend [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Consequences of Time Travel, Demons, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mary Lives, Mary Winchester's A+ Parenting, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Minor Character Death, Research, Ripple Effect, Sam and Dean against the world, Secret Identities, Series Rewrite, Slow Updates, Time is Fluid, angelic consequences, covert conversations, mentions of Jessica Moore - Freeform, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: Growing up in Lebanon wasn't easy, between their parents and their secrets. Dean and Sam quickly learned that they had to stick together or else they'd risk getting torn apart by the scheming and lying. Even after they grew up and went their separate ways, they were still loyal to each other. That loyalty pulls Dean back to his brother's side when disaster strikes; that loyalty pulls Sam back into the secretive world he left behind when he went to school. Together, they realise that there is more going on besides the secrets their parents force them to keep and that they have to stick together to get to the bottom of what is happening around them.





	1. Chapter 1

_"A bad man was with Sammy last night," Dean whispered. "I tried to wake Daddy but---"_

_His mother smoothed his hair off of his forehead. She seemed tense, but she managed a smile for Dean all the same. "Bad man? Do you mean Daddy's boss with the funny voice?"_

_Dean shook his head. His father hadn't believed him when he said the intruder had yellow eyes---he'd sat him down and told him those sorts of monsters were long dead, whatever that meant---and he didn't want to see the frown his father had given him on his mother's face so soon after she came back from her trip._

_"Dean? Did the bad man hurt you?"_

_Dean shook his head again. When she hugged him, he inhaled deeply; she smelled like spice and flowers, like peace and safety, somehow, and that made him feel better. She was his home, like Sammy was his home, too. As long as they were together, the bad stuff didn't matter._

_"I love you and I'll believe anything you tell me," his mother whispered. "It will be our little secret."_

_"He... he had yellow eyes, Mommy," Dean whispered back._

_She didn't tell him he was lying or dreaming or that any such monsters were dead. Instead, she squeezed him more tightly and promised him that she would protect him and Sammy, that she would teach him how to protect himself as soon as he was old enough._

#####

It took Dean two tries to answer the phone. In his defense, he was half-asleep and the few people who had the number to that particular phone rarely called him. 

By the time he got it flipped open and placed against his ear, his heart was beating faster than usual and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath. Sam's secret number was flashing on the display. They'd decided to only use those phones in case of serious emergency; a family fight and a few years apart didn't change that. 

"Dee?" 

Dean closed his eyes against the way the panic rose up in his chest. It was his younger brother, Sam, and he'd been crying. He only ever called him Dee when he was in tears---after he grew up, anyway. The sound of his voice made Dean's chest ache. He hated it when Sam was upset. 

"You're at school?" Dean said. 

"The local morgue," Sam croaked. "Jess---" 

"I am on my way, Sammy," Dean interrupted. He didn't need to know the details to know his brother needed him. He was already out of bed and reaching under it for his bag. "You go to a motel, like Mom taught us. Text me an alibi on our official phones. Turn it off after. I'll turn mine off when I hit town." 

Sam's exhalation was shaky, but Dean could almost see him putting himself together enough to carry out the plan. 

"Ye-yeah... yeah, okay," Sam mumbled. "Where are you?" 

"I'm outside of Rawlins. Wyoming. Won't take me long to get to you," Dean said. "You just gotta hold it together a little while longer, okay?" 

"Why Wyoming?" Sam asked. 

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "Ransacking a coven's library," he grunted. "Witches, man." 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah... yeah. Found the hex bag," Dean replied. Hurrying across the room, he found his bathroom kit, tossed it into his bag, and shoved his feet into his boots. "Sammy? I'm sorry. Please hold on until I get there. And if Dad calls---" 

"He doesn't have this number," Sam said quietly. "I'm not stupid." 

"Text me," Dean said, choosing not to address Sam's last statement. He didn't want to fight with Sam when he needed to be helping Sam. "I'm checking out right now." 

Any irritation Sam had expressed faded away on a long, drawn out breath. "Thank you, Dean. I... know we're... y'know. But..." 

Dean smiled a little. His hand covered his heart, protecting the warm feelings or trying to impress the warmth upon his memory. His relationship with Sam was full of love, but it was also full of prickly disagreements and torn loyalties and so many secrets and lies; their position in the world was too precarious for tenderness, so they let each other know how they felt in their own unsteady ways. 

"Don't go getting soft on me, bitch," Dean murmured. 

"Still be tougher than you, jerk." 

Dean's smile stretched to a small grin. "Be safe," he said before ending the call.

###

They knew they didn't have normal parents long before their mother told them their first secret stories, long before their father pulled them into his study (Dean first, then Sam a few years later) to tell them similar secrets. Their father was often away on business---or locked away at "the office" for days at a time---and their mother drew strange symbols on their clothes tags, kept entirely too much salt in the kitchen, and made them drink special water every day when they came inside from playing (but only when their father wasn't home). Their parents didn't always smile at each other with their eyes---not the way they smiled at Dean and Sam---and they were often too quiet. 

Dean's school friends never talked about their parents separately swearing them to secrecy and for a while he assumed that was because secrets were _secret_ and theirs were about monsters of all things so keeping quiet made sense; it wasn't until he went to Jimmy's house in seventh grade that he realised his family was the weird one, with its strange silences and private moments and training early and late in the day (or night). 

Dean didn't understand his parents---his mother knew so much about the same things his father taught him, his father didn't know that his mother knew those things, and both parents made Dean (and then Sam) promise not to tell the other parent what they knew---but he accepted his weird life and their antics as best as he could. 

When he was inducted into the Men of Letters, as an apprentice, what remained of his father's pride was balanced by the expression hidden in his mother's eyes. Part fear, part rage, the look made him shiver before he could even take off his tie. The look faded in front of her husband, but it returned in full force when she could get Dean alone and tell him everything she knew. 

The apprenticeship marked his official start as a double agent. He didn't mind it---the extra job let him protect his brother, kept him close to his mother, and didn't take his father's temperamental approval away---but Sam _hated_ it when it was his turn. He didn't understand why his parents couldn't share information, why he couldn't have a normal life, why he couldn't be honest. He rebelled against his mother's plan in any way he could without getting Dean into trouble; as soon as he was free to choose his path, he moved away for school. The Men of Letters allowed it and their father approved of it, and another small splinter was set in the bond between Sam and his mother. Sam didn't see the proud gleam in his mother's eyes when she read his e-mails or took his calls. He only remembered the way she looked at him as if he were betraying his family. 

Sometimes, that look made it difficult for Sam to let Dean into his life. But, they made a promise to each other, so Dean never gave up trying to maintain their bond. 

They did the best they could. 

Dean often wondered what it would be like to grow up without learning to lie so well. He wondered what it would be like to tell his father something and have him demand the truth or cuss him out for being dishonest. He wondered what it would be like to live without a wriggling pit of guilt in his stomach. 

But, he couldn't abandon his mother. Or the plan. He just _couldn't_. 

Part of him hoped that he'd never have to betray the secret society. He liked saving people and having the toolkit to do the job well. The rest of him knew eventually he'd have to choose a side---or that, deep down, he'd already chosen one but it wasn't his mother's or his father's sides he'd picked. 

Sam was his choice. Ever since he walked in on that demon in his baby brother's room, he knew they were involved in something bigger than he could comprehend after four years of being alive. And Sam---his blood, his confidante, his only true ally---was always going to be his choice. 

_Jess was murdered. I'm not a suspect. Feels hinky. Please meet me at our spot. And bring scotch._

It only took one internet search to find the motel---The Highland Hills---after reading Sam's text. The drive was longer than he'd liked, but shorter than it could have been if he'd been anywhere else. 

When he knocked on the door of the room on the end of the building, the only room with a playing card wedged in the window frame, he only had to wait a few seconds before Sam was pulling him into the room and into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered as he returned the embrace. Sam's breath hitched; Dean squeezed him more tightly. "I got you," he murmured. "I'm here." 

"She... oh, god, Dee---" 

Dean didn't say anything when Sam started to cry. He knew Sam needed time and a safe place, before he would feel comfortable sharing what happened; he was private, with all the webs they'd woven over the years, so it took a while for thoughts to become words. Dean held onto his brother and he waited. 

When Sam was ready, they stepped apart. They moved to the two beds in the room. Knees almost touching, they settled across from each other and they talked. 

Sam explained what had happened---the fire, the completely unnatural way Jess had been attached to the ceiling, the smell of sulfur in the air---and Dean asked questions---about any suspicious people, about anything else Sam could remember. Dean wanted to hug Sam close again, when it was all over, but Sam was stiff with grief-filled rage and frustration. 

"What else is going on in your life?" Dean asked. 

Sam exhaled and shook his shaggy hair out of his eyes. "I got a one-seventy-four on my LSATs," he said. 

"Law school, huh?" Dean replied. He leaned forward and nudged Sam's leg. "Dork. Who knew you had such a big brain to match that big body?" 

Sam gave him a watery-weak smile. 

"So. Let's break it down," Dean said. He got up and pulled the playing card out of the window. "You wanna start looking up omens? Maybe there's a pattern. I'm gonna go grab us some food." 

"Dad's gonna show," Sam muttered. "You know he'll find us. We should start booking the honeymoon suite at a fancier place." 

Dean shook his head. "Save that for when we really need to disappear. This is just... a break before his majesty arrives." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "He's not so bad." 

"He's worse when he gets back from his overseas trips," Dean said. He sighed. There were things he didn't want Sam to have to know or see; he'd protect Sam as long as he could, but not without giving Sam a warning. "You should hear him... fuck, Sam. He's not the same. Something's... maybe the job changed him." 

Sam shrugged. Dean came back to the beds and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. 

"You want a salad, right?" Dean asked. "Sandwich, too?" 

After Sam nodded, Dean handed over his laptop bag. He'd let Sam start the research while he did a loop of the college town. He wanted to see the remnants of the place Sam had shared with Jess; he wanted to search the area around the motel to make sure no one was watching them. 

"Dean? You know to be careful, right?" 

Dean smiled. "Lifetime of practice, Sammy. I'll be fine."

#####

_Dean had been sitting in their known spot---the treehouse---for twenty minutes when Sammy's head poked through the hole in the floor._

_He was grinning. Dean had to blink to be sure. When his father gave him the ten-years-old talk, he hadn't been grinning in its aftermath. All he could think about was that his parents were_ really _lying to each other and maybe that meant they wouldn't stay married. Sammy didn't seem worried at all._

_"It's like an adventure!" he exclaimed. "Dee! We'll get to save the world! Be the good guys!"_

_Dean made himself smile. "Yeah, maybe, Sammy."_

_He let Sammy have his excitement until they climbed down the tree and scampered off to the rocks by the river. No one was listening there---or if they talked quietly, no one could hear them over the rushing water---and they could talk freely._

_"You didn't tell Dad about the stuff Mom taught us, right?" Dean asked, once they were settled._

_After he tossed a pebble into the river, Sammy admitted: "I wanted to."_

_"We gotta protect Mom," Dean said._

_Sammy sighed. "I don't get it, Dee."_

_"Me, neither," Dean said. "But... if they fight..."_

_Sammy sighed again. He bowed his head and pulled his legs up against his body. "I know," he mumbled. "And Dad's work is top secret. Mom could get in trouble."_

_"You an' me," Dean said. "We're the truth. For each other."_

_"Always," Sammy agreed. "You got my back? And you don't think I'm too little to get yours?"_

_"I trust you more than anyone else. Forever."_

#####

It took until Sam's tenant insurance started paying for his motel room for John Winchester to show up at the door. 

By then, neither son had found any trace of the demon who burned Jessica's body---but they confirmed it had been a demon, so they considered that a plus. Dean had put a call out (on his secret phone) to their mother's hunter friends---Ellen Harvelle and Bobby Singer, trusting them to get the word out to hunters not on the Men of Letters payroll---for information about any similar deaths. Sam hadn't been sure about that, but he told Dean he trusted his judgment. Sam didn't know Dean spent more time than he should with "rogue" hunters; Dean planned to tell him as soon as he could, as soon as they were sure they weren't being watched or tracked. 

John took one look at them, patted Dean's shoulder, and gave Sam a stiff hug. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, son," John said. 

"Thanks, sir," Sam mumbled. 

"We'll get this bastard, don't you worry about that," John said. "Why don't you boys pack up and we'll head out together tomorrow?" 

"Head out?" Dean echoed. 

John nodded. "You want to help your brother get revenge right?" 

"I... of course," Dean replied. "But, Dad---" 

"An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us," John said. "We're gonna get into this. Full time. Even thinking about taking a trip to London, check their sources, if we don't have what we need at home. Better than leaving you two to sit in here and Google shit and daydream about payback." 

Dean's heart clenched. He silently hoped he wouldn't have to go with them. The last time he was in London he came back feeling like he'd never be clean again; he wouldn't wish that on Sam, who had used classes as an excuse to miss the trip he should have taken to meet their so-called superiors. 

"You mind me riding back with you?" John asked, in the special tone he employed to mask orders as something polite and considerate. "I can book a return flight, but I'd love to catch up with my boys." 

His words had a positive affect on Sam. He smiled and nodded, the fact that it was Dean's car not registering with him. Sam always seemed to soak up his father's positive attention. Considering everything he'd been through that week, Dean could relent and give him that comfort. It wasn't like they could talk freely in the car anyway; his mother taught him to assume it was always bugged even if he didn't find the hidden devices. 

But, despite the need to make his brother happy, the idea of being trapped in the car for days with his father... was not at all appealing. 

"Yeah, of course," Dean said. He forced himself to smile. "We'll make good time to Kansas with another driver." 

John smiled back at him, toothier than his usual smiles for Dean, and squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks, Dean," he said. "Feels like I haven't seen you in a while." 

"You keep sending me out on jobs, sir," Dean said, shrugging through what he hoped was a respectful tone. "Been busy." 

Nodding, John's smile seemed to stretch. "Pop said you visited him, too," he said. "Thanks for that. I know he likes hearing what we're up to. Takes the sting out of retirement." 

Dean smiled. Visiting Henry was about getting stories of his own---information about how the higher-ups operated during his time in Lebanon, in particular---and staying on John's good side more than anything else, but his grandfather was a seemingly nice man and a visit with him was a break from the daily grind. Sitting at computers, doing research... it was dull work, even with the spying and liaising he did for his mother. 

"He makes a mean pot of chili," Dean said. "I'm glad I had time to visit on the way." 

"He appreciates it," John said. "Hell, so do I." 

"Yessir." 

John nodded. "All right. I'm going to book a room. We'll head out at first light." 

When they were alone again, Dean did a visual sweep of the area where their father had been standing, all he'd touched. He checked his collar---and Sam's hood, much to his displeasure---and when he found nothing, he called their mother. 

Mary answered on the third ring, as she always did. "How's Sam?" she said, before any sort of greeting could be exchanged. "John said Jess was---" 

"Yeah," Dean exhaled. "He's... you wanna talk to him?" 

"Does he want to talk?" she asked. 

Dean looked at Sam. He nodded, extending his hand for the phone. After Dean put the device in Sam's hand, he went to his bag and grabbed everything he'd need to get ready for bed. He could hear Sam saying something about the smell in the fire and the demon signs; Sam's voice was steady but weak, like he was exhausted, and Dean wanted to end the call to let his kid brother get some sleep. 

"I'll be home soon," Sam said. "We're leaving first thing." 

Whatever Mary said must have been amusing, because Sam huffed out a little laugh. 

"I can't wait," he said. "I'll text you from the road."

#####

_Dean watched as John checked Sammy's backpack for their expedition and he tried not to glare too much---or fret too much. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but it was the first big hunting trip for Sammy. Dean's had gone so wrong---on so many levels---and he was desperate to spare his younger brother the pain of learning what kind of person their father really was._

_But, despite Dean's concerns, John was insistent: Sammy would be joining him. Sammy would assist him on a ghost hunt---his first hunt, his first practical lesson in fighting evil. And Dean would stay at home and continue his after-school tutoring sessions with John's work partner, Lennon, a man around his father's age with a meaner streak than John had on his worst days---a man who Dean called Lemon behind his back. As far as John thought Dean's mother knew, the lessons were for extra help in school; his mother knew the truth, though, and played along because allowing Dean into the Men of Letters repository was a chance for her to gain important information._

_Nearly vibrating with energy, Sammy was by the door. He was wearing the hoodie Dean gave him for luck over a blue flannel shirt their mother had given him for warmth. The biggest grin since before John introduced Sammy to his so-called heritage was stretching the little guy's face; Dean wanted to join in and be happy and excited with him, but memories from his own trip kept him from being too involved._

_A stern look from his mother reminded him of their private conversation and the important point she'd made---about Sammy taking John's side if the hunt goes_ too _well---so Dean shuffled forward and nudged his brother's shoulder with his own._

_"Be safe, Sammy," Dean murmured. "Please. And... I'll be here, waiting to hear all about it."_

_Sammy turned his grinning face to Dean. "Think I'll do better than you?"_

_"Oh, probably," John said as he joined the boys. Dean struggled to keep his scowl buried deep in his mind. "C'mon, Sam. We're burning daylight."_

_Before Sammy raced to the front door, he hugged Dean. "Don' listen to him," Sammy whispered in Dean's ear. "You're awesome."_

_"Thanks, Sammy," Dean whispered back._

_He stepped out of John's way and watched his truth walk out the door with his lie. Not even a slice of pie could cheer him up while Sammy was away. When Sam came back, full of post-mission excitement and stories and the enthusiasm that would feed the light in John's eye, Dean had to pretend that pie could heal all the aches inside him so no one would suspect he was more worried than a boy his age had the right to be._


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stretched out in the backseat of Dean's jeep, as much as he could, and he watched as his father and Dean traded seats. Dean's shoulders were set a little differently---a little more stiffly---than they usually were; Sam doubted John could see the change, but he could and he knew that John driving Dean's vehicle was the reason for it. 

He appreciated the sacrifice. He wanted time with his father before investigations and returning to school (and lying and scheming) and he knew Dean understood that. Their family was complicated; they'd grown up in an environment that no parent should ever wish upon their children. But, Sam always felt some sort of kindred bond with his father that even all the secrets and lies couldn't erode. Sam never understood why Dean wasn't angry with their mother or why he directed most of his anger at their father; he couldn't forgive his mother for the way she broke their family, without their father being aware of it, and yet Dean seemed to place all the blame on their father's shoulders with no doubt or wavering in his convictions. 

He promised Dean that they would be each other's truth, that they would be there for each other no matter what happened, but it was hard when Dean refused to listen to him when he shared his sympathetic thoughts for their father. 

"You need to get your ride into a garage, Dean," John said as he pulled out of the diner's parking lot and back onto the road that would take them to the highway. "I can feel the wheel pulling to the left." 

"Yessir," Dean muttered. 

Sam reached forward with one arm, sliding it between the doors and Dean's seat so he could curl his hand over Dean's shoulder. He squeezed; Dean responded by patting his hand with his own. 

He could understand why Dean had a hard time supporting their father. John didn't make it easy for Dean. Ever since his first ghost hunt, a simple salt-and-burn that John thought would be good practical experience, John's criticism of Dean's performance in all things supernatural leaned towards the negative. Dean's training leaned towards technology and academics while Sam's training became more physical and active. 

Not wanting to rock their precarious boat, Dean never complained; Sam always saw how much it bothered him that they were treated so differently because he knew how to read his older brother. 

But, Dean never tried to fix things with John. He never tried to work harder to change John's mind about his role in the Men of Letters, either, as far as Sam could tell when they were still in grade school. 

Sam always thought Dean could have done more than sit at a computer and track omens or sneak in and out of places to obtain information and relics. Dean always told him to drop the subject when he brought it up. It mystified Sam. He knew Dean could do anything he put his mind to doing---including improving his relationship with their father. 

He was sure Dean thought the same about him, and his relationship with their mother, though, so he tried not to judge Dean too harshly so he wouldn’t be judged in return. 

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. Jess would have known what to say to settle his mind. She didn't know the whole truth of his life, but she'd known enough to know he had strained relationships with each member of his family. And, she knew him, as much as anyone could; she'd always been able to get under his emotional walls to make him smile and laugh. 

He missed Jess so much. Underneath that grief, he felt his familial frustration sitting on the harsh burn of guilt-ridden revenge; the feelings turned his stomach, made the cobb salad he ate for lunch sit like a rock in his gut. 

"Son, any particular music you wanna hear?" John asked. 

"No, thanks, sir," Sam replied. "Whatever you want is fine with me." 

John turned the radio to a contemporary station, one that played all the hits of the last decade. Sam appreciated the effort---and the way Dean only reacted by exhaling slowly---but music wasn't going to help him heal. 

He didn't have much experience in dealing with demons. But, he knew he would learn all that he could because the only thing that would make him feel better was ridding the world of the demon or demons who dared go after the woman he loved.

#####

_"I hate all the lies, Dee," Sammy muttered as they plunked themselves down on their favourite rock._

_"Me, too," Dean whispered._

_"You'll never lie to me, right?" Sammy asked._

_Dean shook his head. "Never."_

_"Then, tell me why you don't like Dad. Please, Dee."_

_"Because he lies."_

_"But we lie!" Sammy exclaimed. "Mom's never told us why we can't tell him the truth, just that we can't and that's that, and I hate all the lying!"_

_"Dad makes you lie, too," Dean said._

_"But if he knew that Mom knew, maybe we wouldn't have to anymore!" Sammy insisted._

_Dean sighed. Sammy looked out over the nearby water, almost hidden by the height of the reedy grass, and he tried to squash the feeling that Dean was keeping something from him, too. But, Dean promised he'd be true; Sammy had to believe that because there were no other people in his life that could be that for him._

_"I hate Mom for doing this to us," Sammy whispered._

_"And I hate Dad for doing this to us," Dean said. "So, what do we do?"_

_"Keep each other safe," Sammy said. "No matter what. You and me. We're all we've got."_

#####

As soon as they'd parked outside of the family house, Dean got out of the car. He walked around to the trunk and got their bags; John marched to the side door and disappeared from sight. Instead of following him, Sam lingered in the driveway and looked around the neighbourhood to take note of the changes in colours and cars and children since his last visit. 

"Sam!" 

He turned in time to see his mother rush him for a hug. There was tension between them, but he still loved her and needed to feel her love in return. It was only natural. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked his face into her unruly curls. 

"Hey, Mom," he murmured. 

"I'm so glad you're safe," she said. She pulled back enough to look up into his face. "I'm so sorry about Jess, sweetheart." 

Not knowing what else to say, Sam nodded. Dean marched past him, bags hanging off of both arms, but he paused to kiss his mother's cheek before continuing his trek to the front door. Sam smiled a little. Some things never changed. Dean always went in the front door, so he could pass through the kitchen on his way up the back set of stairs to his bedroom; John always chose the back door, so he could tuck into his office and disappear for hours. 

"I tried to make cookies," Mary said. "But, I used the wrong ingredients and they kind of... went wrong." 

Some things really never changed. 

"But, I bought your favourite squares from the market today," she added. "And there's whipped cream in the fridge." 

A small, huffed laugh escaped his throat. "That sounds good," he said. 

"C'mon," she said, threading her arm through his and tugging him towards the house. "I want to hear about anything you want to tell me. About Jess, about school... just anything that's on your mind." 

He liked his mother best when she wasn't scheming behind John's back. He liked his mother best when she was doing her best to seem like _just_ a wife and mother. Maybe it was wrong of him, but he hoped that John stayed at the house for a little while so he could have the kind of comfort that her maternal behavior could bring.

###

By the time that Dean rejoined them, looking a little looser in his shoulders and a little less angry in his eyes, Sam had finished off two squares and several dollops of frothy cream. Dean rummaged in the fridge, found three bottles of beer, and brought them to the table. 

"So, what did I miss?" he asked. 

"Sam was just catching me up on school," Mary said. "And telling me about Jess. She sounds like a remarkable woman." 

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder before he sat down next to him. "Yeah, she was a pistol," Dean murmured in agreement. "Only met her once, thought she was gonna crack that bat against my skull..." 

"Only because you picked the lock and snuck in," Sam said, smiling at the memory. He'd been sleeping, but Jess had been up studying. When she heard Dean coming into their apartment, she armed herself and tried to attack him. The shouts he'd heard---from both of them---had been terrifying up until he'd skidded into the den and saw the two of them facing off on each other. "She totally would've beat you up if I hadn't saved your ass." 

Dean opened his mouth and Sam was sure there was a witty comeback on the tip of his tongue, but John entered the room and Dean snapped his jaw shut with an audible click. 

"Jess beat up Dean?" 

"Only almost," Sam said, looking at John. "He surprised her. And she was pretty fearless." 

"I could've taken her, if she'd been an actual threat," Dean mumbled. 

"Sure, Dean," John said, his tone lacking conviction. 

Rolling his eyes, Dean picked up his bottle of beer and rose to his full height. "I'm gonna go sit out back," he said, mostly to Sam. "Come find me when you're done stuffin' your face." 

"Okay," Sam murmured. 

If he'd been home for any other reason, if he hadn't felt emotionally frayed enough already, Sam would have asked their father to lay off Dean---or at least asked why he was so mean to him---but he didn't want to fight or show any sign of resistance. He wanted to heal his heart. He wanted peace. 

"How would you feel about coming by the office with me tomorrow, son?" John asked. 

Mary frowned. "He doesn't want to go to your little research firm, John," she protested. "He's grieving. What good will making nice with a bunch of historians do?" 

"They like Sam, they care about him," John said. "In a way, they're part of my family." 

Sam could almost hear his mother thinking--- _"They're not part of my family"_ \---but she didn't say anything out loud. He wasn't going to bring it up, either. He wanted the peace to last as long as it could. Refusing to visit John's colleagues would be a surefire way to ignite an argument between his parents; Mary would take his side, John would press harder for an agreement, and in the end Sam would have to go anyway because John did not like to lose and Mary would hold a grudge on his behalf for a little while. 

"I, uh... maybe?" Sam said. "I want to spend some more time with Dean tomorrow. And I have to arrange for flowers to be delivered to Jess' service." 

Nodding, Mary reached across the table and squeezed his arm. "Did you want to take my car and go to the service?" she asked. "They live in Colorado, right? Just outside of Denver?" 

"Yeah," Sam said. "I... I don't know if they want me there. Or if I should go there. I might just go to the cemetery, later. Might see if Dean will come with me." 

Mary nodded again. "Whatever you need to feel better." 

"Thanks, Mom." 

John picked at one of the squares on the platter in the middle of the table. "We'll leave at nine o'clock tomorrow. All right, son?" 

Even though he felt his mother's grip on his arm tighten, he nodded and asked, "Is Dean coming, too?" 

"Dean's got his own assignment tomorrow," John said. 

Not for the first time, Sam wondered what John believed Mary thought they did. She wasn't an idiot; she didn't grow up in an environment isolated from mainstream society. Dean could have gone to college or trade school or packed up and travelled across the country for a year or two after high school, but he instead spent time working for their father's so-called company of private researchers. Sam had a hard time believing that John felt Mary accepted that story as truth. 

"Well, I better get started on supper," Mary said, smiling a little. "John, honey, are you going to be staying?" 

"Not if you're cooking," he replied. He was smirking; a teasing glint Sam rarely saw was in his eyes. "Last week's chicken was..." 

"Watch it, mister," Mary warned. As she stood up, she swatted at his shoulder. John replied by squeezing her hand. "I thought I'd heat up the lasagne you made." 

Sam watched them, remembering the times they flirted with each other in front of him; he still didn't know what was real and what was an act and his heart ached at that realization. He might not have told Jess everything, but they'd been _real_ ; she'd never had a reason to doubt his feelings for her, and he'd never had a reason to doubt hers for him. 

John tugged her in and against his body before he lifted his head to kiss her chin. "Sounds good," he said. 

Amazed by the shift between them, and a little angered by it, too, Sam stood up. His parents looked at him, waiting for an explanation, and he gestured towards the patio door. 

"Remind Dean he's got those reports to type up tonight, would ya, son?" 

Sam waited until his back was to them before rolling his eyes. Dean must have seen the gesture---or heard their father---because he was snorting and shaking his head as Sam stepped out onto the wooden deck. 

"How's it going in there?" he asked. 

"They're doing that thing where they pretend to like each other," Sam muttered, barely giving the words any of his voice at all. 

"Y'know, sometimes I think it isn't a lie," Dean admitted. "Not the way we grew up believing, anyway." 

Sam shrugged and leaned back against the railing. Dean nudged his shoulder with his own. Sam replied with a nudge of his own. 

"What did Dad say on your way out?" Dean asked quietly. 

"Just... it's not important," Sam decided, shaking his head a little. 

"Dude. What is it? I'm gonna hear about it as soon as I go back in there," Dean insisted. 

Sam sighed. He could feel the peace threatening to crack, but he still gave into Dean's casual persistence. "He wants me to remind you about your reports," he said, his voice quiet. 

Dean chuckling was not the reaction Sam expected. When he turned his head towards Dean, he saw green eyes sparkling with humour. When he asked Dean why he was so amused, Dean said, "Got those done on my phone while he was driving. Started 'em while we were at the motel." 

"Then, why..." 

"If he knows I can get them done in half the time, then he'll expect them to always be done in half the time," Dean said, his voice low and calm. "I have better things to do than push paper around every day." 

"What are you doing?" Sam asked. 

Dean drank from his beer, tipping his head back as he swallowed, before he said anything else. When he spoke, he put his bottle on the porch railing. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go for a walk. Check out the treehouse." 

Sam laughed. "Can we still fit up there? Can it even hold our weight?" 

Grinning, Dean said, "I checked it last week. Fixed a few boards and salt lines. I, uh, needed a place to unwind." 

The last time Dean mentioned unwinding when they were together, Sam ended up sprawled in the grass at a look-off point with Dean at his side and a joint passed back and forth between them. He rolled his eyes and pushed off of the railing. 

"No smoking," he stipulated. "Not tonight." 

"Nah, Dad'd find us before we had the first hit," Dean said. "We'll save that for another night." 

Sam jogged down the steps and Dean followed. They didn't hurry; they knew they had a bit of time before dinner would be ready. Their pace was slow and even and it allowed Sam to look around the property to the places where they'd run to find temporary sanctuary. 

He wished he could have brought Jess there. He wished he could have shown her how beautiful it was there. 

But, at the same time, he was a little bit glad he was only sharing the secret haunts with his brother. 

His parents were trying to help, and they did in some ways, but he also needed Dean's presence by his side. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, when Sam decided to go to Stanford, but Dean knew him and knew what he needed to heal; he wouldn't hesitate to step up and provide for him, as he'd done throughout their childhood. 

They settled against each other once they climbed their special tree and reached the platform. Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing for a moment before releasing his grip. 

"Will you come with me?" Sam asked. 

"To the funeral?" 

Sam shrugged. "Thought I might just... show up after. Say good-bye alone." 

Dean leaned into him. "Her parents don't want you there?" he asked. 

"They... I don't know," Sam said, bowing his head so he didn't have to look at Dean. "They weren't very happy with me when they came to Palo Alto. I get it, I do, I should have been there---" 

"You couldn't have known---" 

"I should have been there," Sam insisted. 

"Did they say that to you?" Dean asked. 

"They didn't have to---" 

"Sammy, it was not your fault," Dean insisted. "You couldn't have known. Unless the demon told you somehow, you can't be at fault." 

Sam frowned more. "What if... what if they were after me? Because of us? Our family? Who we are?" 

"Who'd know?" Dean asked. 

"Hunters they hire? Or... well, c'mon, they're not exactly discrete. Hunters talk," Sam replied. 

Dean's sigh was long and drawn out, but Sam couldn't figure out the reason behind the expression. He turned his head, peeking at Dean through his shaggy hair; Dean looked somewhere between angry and worried, his brows drawn together but raised and his mouth pursed so his lower lip jutted out in a bit of a pout. He'd seen similar looks on Dean's face before; he usually understood why Dean was making such an expression. 

"Sammy... unless Dad's been bragging about you to Gordon and the other psychos he has working for him, the hunters don't know about you," Dean said. 

"Why do you say they're psychos?" Sam asked. 

Dean snorted. The worry evaporated from his face. "Because they are," Dean replied. "The sensible hunters? They're not working for the Men of Letters. Dad and Lemon---" 

"Lennon." 

"---hired the craziest guys. Don't care what they kill as long as they get to kill. I had to do clean up after one of Gordon's kills... I nearly lost my lunch." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, you're not a hunter. You barely go out in the field---" 

"You don't know what I've been doing," Dean interrupted, his tone of voice harsh and that harshness directed at Sam for the first time since they reunited. 

Sam immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You're right. I haven't been here." 

"I'm glad you haven't been here," Dean whispered. 

"Why?" Sam asked. "I could've helped you." 

"You're lucky," Dean said. "You got to get away, have a life... and I'm sorry things are shitty right now. I'm sorry you're in pain. But, the things I've seen? The things I've had to do? I wouldn't wish that on you." 

Sam frowned. When he'd left for Stanford, Dean had been buried in a research project on the _Key of Solomon_ \---much to his dismay---and doing the odd clean up for the team of hunters. He'd been learning how to hack computers, to fix paperwork and databases to hide their operations from law enforcement and the general public. But, when he'd called Dean, he was out stealing from witches. Something had changed in his job description. 

"Dad makes you---" 

"Lemon---" 

"Lennon." 

"---sends me on fetch missions," Dean said. "I do actually know his name, y'know." 

Sam smiled a bit. "Doesn't seem like it." 

"Well, if he wasn't such a shithead, maybe I'd use it," Dean muttered. 

"All right," Sam murmured. "So, he sends you to fetch things." 

"Even after Dad tells him to stop," Dean admitted. "Never matters that I get back in one piece. Dad is convinced I'm just as useless as I was when---" 

Sam reached out. His hand landed on Dean's arm and squeezed the flesh there. "You've never been useless," Sam whispered. "If Dad can't see it, that's his problem." 

Dean shrugged off Sam's touch. "Doesn't matter. Let him think what he wants." 

"He sends you on the clean-up jobs," Sam said. When Dean nodded, Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. That's gotta be gross." 

"And hard," Dean said. "Nearly always almost caught by someone. Picking up pieces of werewolf or vampire or whatever it was that those deranged lunatics ripped apart. Dad knows I hate it, and he keeps sending me out. It's punishment for not being the son he thinks I should be." 

Sam frowned. "Dean... " 

"It's fine," Dean said, rolling his shoulders. "He's got you to be proud of. And you are, y'know? Someone to be proud of." 

"This is too sappy, even for you," Sam mumbled. 

"I'd do anything to protect you from the shit I've seen, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Just stay in his good books, all right?" 

"I want to help you," Sam insisted. 

Dean shook his head. "I'm managing. This... us... right now? Knowing you've got my back if I need you? That helps." 

"Right back atcha," Sam whispered. 

After shifting his weight, Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Everything I'm doing, it's to help us stay safe," Dean admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper, too. "Trust me?" 

"Always," Sam said, breathing out the word on a long exhale. 

Dean squeezed him a little bit closer. Their heads rested together. Sam was transported back through his childhood memories, to all the times they sat in the treehouse before disappearing to their rock, to all the times they soothed their frayed nerves and worries with similar gestures. 

Sam closed his eyes and breathed deeply. As much as his heart hurt, having Dean back in his life was such a good feeling that it nearly balanced out the pain.

#####

_"Again, Sam."_

_Sammy glared at his mother. He_ hated _his private lessons with her, usually held after school and before his father came home. He and Dean alternated afternoons; they used to study together, but one of the other mothers in the neighbourhood said something to Mary about her boys never being outside playing and after that she made sure to send one of them out with the other kids._

_After a deep, huffing sigh, Sammy drummed his fingers against the desk and recited the exorcism his mother wanted him to remember:_

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

_He paused, sucking in a big breath so he could continue._

"Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te... cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare..." _he looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall the next line without looking at his mother's stern face._ "Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis... Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine..."

_"That's it," Mary murmured. "Almost there..."_

_Sammy closed his eyes._ "Quem inferi tremunt... Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos."

_"Perfect," Mary breathed._

_For a moment, Sammy forgot about the lies and the schemes. He was usually so angry with his mother, for making him a part of whatever game she was playing, but when he opened his eyes and saw her beaming at him... he felt like she loved him._

_"Really?" Sammy asked._

_She leaned forward, lifting out of her seat at the kitchen table, and she kissed his forehead. "Completely perfect," she assured him. "You're so good at remembering these incantations."_

_Sammy preened a bit under her praise. He knew there would be more to their lessons---more information, more displeasure, more anger and frustration---but he wanted to enjoy the happy moment while it lasted._

_She smoothed his floppy hair off of his forehead. "Do you want me to tell you what it means?"_

_"It means stuff?" Sammy asked._

_His mother smiled and nodded. "I can tell you the translation if you want," she offered._

_"Yes, please," Sammy chirped._

_He was interested, but he also wanted to postpone the "don't tell Daddy" portion of their lesson for as long as he could. He did his best to look eager---for the right reasons, though he wasn't entirely sure how to pull that off---and he nearly crowed in delight when his mother sat down again and started talking._

_"'We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary,'" she said, her voice low and calm, "'every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect. Therefore, diabolical legions, we adjure you. Cease to deceive human creatures and to give to them the poison of eternal damnation. Be gone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man's salvation. Be humble under the mighty hand of God. Tremble and flee when we invoke the Holy and Terrible Name at which those down below tremble. From the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord, that they Church may serve Thee in peace and liberty to serve, we ask Thee, hear us.'"_

_The happiness he'd felt at pleasing her faded with every word she recited._

_"Is God... terrible?" Sammy asked._

_His mother smiled. "Not to us," she murmured. "But, I imagine to a demon, He is."_

_"Oh. What about angels?"_

_Her hand was in his hair again, soothing his worries with a gentle touch. "They are looking out for all of God's creations. They look out for us," she said._

_"But demons..."_

_"Demons are Lucifer's creations," his mother said. "God does not love them as he loves humans."_

_Sammy nodded. That made sense. She'd told him about Lucifer and his making of demons before they'd gotten into exorcisms and how to tell if someone is possessed. If demons were Lucifer's, and Lucifer and God were not on the same side, then it was likely that God hated demons and was terrible to them but not to humans._

_He didn't want to get on God's bad side any more than he already was for all the lying he'd been doing._

_"Do you want a snack?" his mother asked._

_"Are we done?" Sammy asked._

_She nodded. "We'll try it again the next time it's your turn, and then we can talk about demon traps and stuff like that," she said._

_"Can I go find Dee?" Sammy asked._

_"Absolutely," his mother said. "Just make sure you're home before---"_

_Sammy didn't hear the end of her request. He was already halfway out the front door, determined to find his brother._

#####

_The fire was licking up the walls, across the ceiling, and the heat of it was burning his skin. More smoke than air was in his lungs. All Sam could do was sit there, paralyzed in terror, and watch as Jess burned as her nightgown soaked up her blood._

_"You should have told me," she groaned. "You could have saved me."_

_"I didn't know!" Sam cried. "I---"_

"Sam... Sammy, wake up!" 

Sam whined and turned into what he thought was his pillow. The surface was too smooth, too gentle to be the cotton fabric of his bedding. It took him a few minutes to realise there were hands against his skin, rubbing and soothing him to an alert state of mind. 

"Mom?" 

"Shhh," she whispered. "You were crying in your sleep." 

He blinked and looked up at her. She was still dressed as she'd been earlier in the evening. A quick glance at his alarm clock informed him that it was a few hours past midnight. She didn't seem to be wounded or showing any other signs of a hunt; he didn't understand why she was still awake. 

"Are you okay?" he asked her. 

Mary smiled. "I'm fine," she said. "How about you? Do you want to talk about it?" 

Sam shook his head. "It was just... the fire. Jess. The way I found her when the fire started." 

Nodding, her smile disappearing, Mary brushed Sam's hair off of his face. Her skin was cool but it was welcome relief after the heat of the fire in his mind. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch; he didn’t care how weak he looked, he wanted the comfort. 

"We'll get to the bottom of this," she promised. "I'd do anything to help you get revenge." 

"The hunter's way, huh?" Sam muttered. 

He regretted his words the minute he said them. Even if he hadn't felt the way her hand paused, he knew the look she would be wearing when he looked at her again. He was familiar with it, having butted heads with her a lot over the years; he wished he could rein in his temper, but the fuse set by his childhood wasn't easily extinguished. 

"What do you want, Sam?" she asked. "You wanna let more people die? You wanna step back and let someone else---" 

"No, of course not," he said, cutting off her other suggestions. 

"I was tracking," she whispered. "Looking for signs around you, then going back, seeing if there's a pattern." 

Sam's eyes opened and he let his eagerness show because she was the only other person, besides Dean, who knew the angles he was forced to play. "Anything easy to spot?" he asked. 

She shrugged. "Maybe. I'll show you what I found later in the week if we have time." 

A soft knock on the door prevented Sam from saying anything else. They both turned their heads in time to see Dean poke his through the opening he made. He also pushed a mug of what smelled like cocoa through the door. Sam remembered other nights---when they were too young to be studying what John and Mary were teaching them---like that one, where Dean would come into his room and chase away the bad dreams with music shared between them on one pair of earbuds or a cup of something hot and sweet to drink. John tried to break Dean of the habit---he once said he didn't want Dean softening Sam up with emotional crap---but Dean refused to stay away when Sam needed comfort and Sam tried to return to the favour when he could. 

"Heard you up," Dean said, his voice rough and quiet. "Thought you'd like something to drink. Put extra milk in it, so it might help you get back to sleep." 

Sam knew he was smiling one of his dopier smiles but he didn't care. "Gimme," he murmured. 

"Go try to sleep, Mom," Dean whispered. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She smiled at him as he straightened; Sam felt an unexpected flash of jealousy as he witnessed the gesture. "I'll check the traps and locks again before I turn in." 

Mary snorted. "No, I'll do it. You'll put Zeppelin Four on and be snoring in minutes." 

"She says that like she knows us, Sammy," Dean joked. 

Still smiling, Sam shrugged. "I don't snore." 

Mary chuckled. "The three of you. Rumbling and rattling this place. No wonder I can't sleep." 

"Right," Dean scoffed. He moved around Mary and put the mug in Sam's hand as soon as Sam was sitting up. Then, he fished out his phone and earbuds from his pocket. "See you in the morning, Mom." 

"Yes, yes, I can take a hint," she said, a wry smile curving her lips. "Goodnight, boys." 

As soon as Mary left them, Dean settled down on the other side of Sam's double bed. Propped up against the cushioned headboard, he fiddled with his phone. Sam sat next to him, sipping his cocoa; when Dean handed him one of the earbuds and slouched down, Sam mirrored his position and accepted the tiny piece of plastic. 

"Zeppelin four?" Sam asked. 

"You got a better suggestion?" Dean replied. 

Sam shook his head. "Nah, this works," he said. "Just like old times, huh?" 

"You still a cuddler?" Dean asked. 

Sam snorted. "Takes one to know one, jerk." 

"Yeah, I know," Dean murmured. He hit play. "Just... close your eyes, bitch." 

Sam was quiet for a few moments, listening to the opening of 'Black Dog' and trying not to think about his nightmare. It was easier to distract himself as he remembered all the times he and Dean did this while they were children; all the times Dean would let him into his room, or promise to sneak into his as soon as John was asleep, and they'd sit up and talk about everything and nothing while listening to Bad Company or Led Zeppelin until they couldn't keep their eyes open. 

When he spoke, it was to ask a question. "Wake me If I start to dream?" 

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean murmured. "I got you." 

"Thanks, Dee," Sam whispered. 

He drained the mug of its creamy chocolate drink and set the mug on his bedside table. After turning over, onto his side, he spent a few minutes studying Dean. Because Dean wasn't looking back at him, Sam felt like he could observe him more closely than he'd been able to since they reunited. He was staring at the bookshelf on the other side of the room, his arms folded across his chest. He looked at ease, but the more Sam studied him, the more he noticed pinching around his eyes that had never been there before. 

He wanted to ask about it, about whatever was on Dean's mind, but he could feel sleep sinking him back into darkness. When Dean started humming along to 'The Battle of Evermore,' he surrendered to the soporific effect of the drink and sense of safety Dean provided for him.


	3. Chapter 3

_It wasn't easy to find out what he wanted to know. Lemon wouldn't tell him anything useful and his father was so sure there were no monsters with yellow eyes; the more he learned, the more he realised that no one knew for sure if a species of monster reached extinction, and he needed to know what had been after Sammy so he could keep him safe._

_When his mother started taking him on trips, to help on hunts (or to visit old family friends, as far as his father knew), Dean would be holed up at Uncle Bobby's house and that was the best place for him to do research._

_Uncle Bobby never talked to him like he was stupid. Uncle Bobby also made sure he had fun._

_It was there that he learned a bunch of monsters had different coloured eyes._

_It was also there that he learned he was probably worrying about one of the Princes of Hell._

_"They're supposed to be dead and gone," Uncle Bobby told him, when Dean found the information in one of the books about demons. "No one's hearda one being topside or even just down in the pit in... well, ever, as far as I know."_

_Dean frowned. "I know what I saw, Bobby."_

_"I know. I believe ya, kid," Uncle Bobby said. He lifted his old mesh cap, scratched his forehead, and put the cap back down on his mostly-brown hair. "Damn. If one of these guys is around... he was in Sam's room?"_

_"Leanin' over his crib. Haven't seen 'im since, but..."_

_"When was it, Dean?" Bobby asked._

_Dean leaned back in his chair, thinking hard. He remembered that Sam was still a baby, and that their mother was out of town. She'd said she was visiting a friend from Lawrence. It was chilly, but not too cold for just sweaters._

_"Sammy wasn't a year old," he said. "Mom was visiting a friend in Lawrence. It wasn't snowing. But, it was after Hallowe'en. No! It was right after. Because I wanted to protect Sammy. I was hidin' in his closet dressed as..."_

_Dean trailed off as he remembered his Batman costume, the mask he'd donned when he decided to camp out in Sammy's closet---just in case._

_Uncle Bobby smiled at him. "Hey, I don't go out on a hunt without my lucky hat, so we've all got our uniforms," he said. "Whatever keeps you brave, right?"_

_Dean nodded._

_"All right. So, we know what it was," Uncle Bobby said. He squeezed his hand over Dean's shoulder. "How about we go out and throw a ball around the yard for a few minutes, give our heads a break? Then I'll make lunch and we'll get back to it?"_

_With another nod, Dean hopped off of his kitchen chair and followed Bobby to the back door where they put the baseballs and gloves the last time they took a study break._

#####

"So."

Dean recognised the tone of Sam's voice and he steeled himself against its effect on him. Sam wanted answers and Dean wasn't sure if he should have them---and he definitely wasn't sure how far back they needed to go before Sam would be satisfied. 

"So?" Dean replied. He leaned back on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the rock through his sweater and jacket. "How was the bunker?" 

Sam snorted. "Fine. Lennon is the same, I guess. Dad's got a lot going on. Running dispatch on his own hunters---separate from the usual crew---and researching... something. Something big." 

"He didn't tell you?" Dean asked. Dean had been sure John would have confided in Sam; he'd been counting on that fact to find out what kept John secluded from the other academics in the large bunker. He didn't know the hunters John had hired, just that they called at all hours and seemed to be looking for something. "Huh. Strange," he said, shuffling his weight against the unyielding stone. 

They'd checked the space---and their pockets---so Dean knew he could talk freely, but something was holding him---and the truth---back. Dean watched as Sam told him about the things he saw as different in the bunker, things Dean knew from being there, and offered little tidbits and tales, but he kept his truths to himself. 

Sam's ramblings drew to an end and he sighed. "Whenever you're ready." 

"What?" 

With a loud snort, Sam eased onto his side. His long legs stretched into the tall grass around them. "Any time, Dean." 

Dean shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Sam smirked. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure you've been keeping a lot of stuff from me." 

"Yeah?" Dean asked, not wanting to give everything away yet. "How d'you figure?" 

Dean hadn't expected Sam to explode so quickly, but he did. Sam's eyes widened before they narrowed; his chest puffed up as he inhaled; he frowned and scowled. His voice was louder than usual the next time he spoke. "Seriously?" Sam nearly shouted. "We're supposed to have each other's backs! You're the only one I can trust and I thought---am I alone here? Or are you gonna cut the crap and tell me what's going on?!" 

Not wasting any time, Dean scooted across the flat rock. He didn't touch Sam, but he made sure they were close. "You're the only one I trust, Sammy," Dean said, repeating words he'd said more than once through their collective childhood. "You know that. But, I thought maybe you've got enough on your plate right now." 

"I don't need you to look after me, Dean." 

Dean snorted. "Tough. I've been doing this job for twenty years, more or less. Ain't gonna quit now." 

"Dean." 

"I hate piling on, man," Dean said. "I can carry this one for now." 

Sam sighed and rolled onto his back. "No, Dean. We're together. Just tell me." 

"They're planning something, or prepping for something," Dean said, his voice going quiet. "Sometimes I think Hell's involved. They've been sending out a few of the more brutal interrogators. But, I never know if they got any intel. It's not on the main servers." 

"Maybe it's going straight to London," Sam suggested. 

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's what I assumed, too. But, I overheard Dad telling Lemon the files were staying here until he knew what they were looking at. And Lemon got right up in his face---and I've never seen 'im do that before, not like that---and said they already knew, he just didn't wanna face it." 

"Really?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah," Dean replied with another nod. "At first, I thought for sure they'd found out about Mom. Or about me. I was ready to run, but---" 

"What about you?" Sam asked. "What are you doing?" 

"I've been... doing more," Dean admitted. "I, um, Mom's got me hooked up with some of the hunters she knows." 

"Dean!" Sam said, his tone of voice more scolding than supportive. "You could get killed!" 

Shrugging, Dean said, "I could've gotten killed getting that witch's book." 

"Dad says other hunters can't be trusted." 

Sam's words made Dean laugh. "Dude. Maybe not, but it'll be a cold day in Hell before I trust Gordon or Kubrick with my life," Dean said. "They'd kill me in a second if they thought my death would help them somehow." 

"No---" 

"Yes," Dean insisted. "Don't ever count on them to have your back, Sammy. No matter what dear ol' Dad tells us, those two are the worst. Gordon's bloodthirsty and Kubrick's got some sort of fanaticism shining in his eyes. Religious, I think. It's a dangerous combination, those two. Creedy's a little bit better, but he won't stand up to the others if they go over the line." 

"And you're hanging out with a better breed?" Sam asked. 

"Well, they're more concerned with saving lives than killing things," Dean said. 

Sam sighed. 

Dean knew Sam was torn---hell, he was torn, too---but when facing demons and vampires and werewolves and other types of monsters, anything could happen and he felt better when the priority was saving people over hunting things. He never worried about Bobby or Rufus turning on him or using him as bait without his knowledge; he trusted them both and hoped they trusted him, too. He didn't want to get mixed up in whatever the hired hunters were doing; they were too risky as partners, their code of conduct was so inconsiderate of human life. 

"I hope you know what you're doing," Sam said quietly. 

"Me, too," Dean agreed. 

"Then, why..." 

"Something's going on," Dean said. "I don't know what it is, but Dad's... he's after something. He's got a couple hunters looking for something. He brought a guy in, to interview, and it was like a full-blown interrogation. This guy didn't do anything wrong. He may have had some intel. That's it. And Dad... it was like something out of a spy movie." 

Sam frowned. "Dad wouldn't---" 

"He did." 

"For what?" 

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. He's not putting anything on the server---or his private server. I checked." 

"You hacked Dad? Dean!" 

"London's pressuring him. And he's motivated for another reason. Can see it in his eyes," Dean said. "When London gets involved... nothing good comes of it." 

Sam nodded. He remembered the stories, too. Henry would tell them about their special school and all the things that happened there; they'd been considering starting a school in the United States, but the American Men of Letters didn't feel that the code they swore to uphold should include certain rituals. When they'd been children, the stories were more distressing; Dean didn't like the idea of lying down and letting Sam kill him, but he would if the alternative meant killing his little brother, and he assumed Sam felt similarly. Thankfully, they didn't have much contact with the London chapter house, but when an agent from across the pond arrived for an inspection it wasn't a good time. 

"What else?" Sam asked. 

"They locked up some of the library," Dean said. 

Sam nodded. "I saw that. Demon books." 

"And angel books." 

"Huh." 

Dean tilted his head. "What?" 

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. I mean, I guess I assumed they're real? But it's all academic. It's not like they're down here causing problems, right?" 

"As far as we know," Dean replied. 

"What would angels and demons have to do with whatever Dad's doing?" Sam asked. "That's why you figure the books are locked up, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"So... why? Isn't that weird?" 

Dean nodded. "It's really weird. No one's seen an angel, as far as I know, and I've asked some experienced hunters. None of them knows what they like to do. Demons are easy enough to figure out---death, chaos, self-serving destruction crap---but angels are a whole new ballgame." 

"We have to figure out what Dad's working on," Sam said. 

"Hey, I thought he'd have told you, Favourite Son," Dean teased. 

Sam sighed and nudged Dean with his shoulder. "Knock it off. I'm not. He loves you, too." 

"He just doesn't see the point to me," Dean muttered. 

"Well, if you showed him what you could do---" 

"And risk ruining the carefully-cultivated uncoordinated geek personna I've been building for years?" Dean interrupted. "Hell no. I want them to continue underestimating me for as long as possible." 

"Seriously?" 

"Yeah. No one suspects the useless." 

"You're not," Sam said, his voice quiet and soft. 

Dean smiled. He leaned against Sam for a moment, thanking him with a couple whispered words. 

"You're gonna tell me everything. Then, we need a plan," Sam added, a few minutes after their last exchange. 

"Yeah?" 

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm not going to let you handle this alone," he said. "If they want me on the inside more, we use that. Maybe I can figure out what Dad's up to." 

Dean was glad Sam made the suggestion; he'd wanted to make it, but he'd been concerned about pushing Sam onto a course of action he did not wish to pursue. Sam always supported their father, took his side more than their mother's, and while Dean disagreed with Sam on that, he also respected Sam's choice. Sam didn't know all that Dean knew, besides, and Dean wanted to let Sam keep his illusion for as long as possible. 

"First, though," Dean said, "we'll go to Colorado. We'll figure out our first step when you're done there." 

Sam leaned his weight into Dean's shoulder. He exhaled noisily, somewhere between a sigh and a hum; in reply, Dean reached up with his hand and cupped the top of Sam's head.

###

Dean leaned back against the car, his stupid jeep, and he watched from a small distance as Sam kneeled down in front of Jessica's grave. It hadn't been marked yet, the ground still wasn't ready to bear that stone, but there was a temporary sign at the head of the grave; flowers and stuffed animals and candles were scattered around the planted card.

Sam had already made a donation to Jess' favourite charity---one of the first things he'd done with the rest of the insurance money---but he needed to grieve and he needed closure. Dean wanted to do everything he could to help Sam with that journey. 

The double agent lifestyle into which their parents had forced them required that they have clear minds and hearts. If Sam were going to get back into the game (that wasn't really a game at all), he needed to put Jessica to rest. Dean knew he was going to want revenge---and knowing some hunters, he didn't think that was entirely wrong---but he didn't want Sam to be operating under the weight of guilt and grief. 

He was glad Sam was thinking about returning, staying, and helping him figure out what was happening. Part of him wished Sam would return to school and stay out of it---because if the Men of Letters were divided on something, it couldn't be good or simple---but the rest of him was glad for the support. He'd been lonely; no one else could understand his burden. 

Bobby knew more than anyone else did. He'd done a job with John before giving the Men of Letters the finger and walking away. Dean couldn't blame him. He'd seen hunters die because of the code John and Lemon and the others obeyed. He was supposed to obey it, too, but he couldn't. It placed the mission above family; it sanctioned murder. Dean knew he was a little screwed up---who wouldn't be after all that he'd seen?---but he couldn't approve of a code of conduct that could pit him against his brother or mother. 

When he'd told Bobby that, a few years ago, he'd nodded and patted his shoulder. Dean supposed that meant Bobby approved. 

A few months after that brief, brusque exchange, Bobby tossed him a set of keys to a car he'd been restoring and dragged him out to one of his garages. Dean saw an old Impala, black under all the beat-up, and he'd wondered what Bobby was planning; Bobby told him if he were going to hunt on his own, he would need an untraceable vehicle, something reliable, something without a computer, and he would need to know how to take care of it. 

Every visit with Bobby, usually on the end of an official trip, they'd spend the day alternating between restoring the Impala and doing whatever research they had to do. 

He loved that car. It meant freedom and being the most honest he could be. 

The jeep meant responsibilities and pretending to follow a dangerously dumb code. 

But, the jeep was their vehicle for the Colorado trip. It had to look like an innocent journey. If they were being tracked digitally, the jeep had to be where it was assumed it would be. Any other trip, he'd have tried to swap vehicles, but he wanted Sam's re-entry into the Men of Letters to continue without suspicion. 

As he stared at Sam, he saw Sam's shoulder's shaking. He sighed and pushed off of the vehicle. He knew Sam wanted to be alone; he also knew he couldn't leave Sam crying by himself. 

"Easy, brother," he murmured, as soon as his arm wrapped around Sam's back. "I got you." 

Sam gulped in a deep breath of air as he turned his face into Dean's shoulder. "I miss her, Dee," he said around a sniffle. "I just... I miss her. I can't stop thinking it's my fault and all I want to do is hold her and apologise and tell her I love her." 

Dean sighed. He brought up his other arm, hugging Sam closer. "Sammy, she knew you love her. You wear your heart on your sleeve, still, after everything, and there's no doubt in my mind she could see how much you love her with everything you did," he murmured. "And it's not your fault. Even if the demon was gunning for you and found her instead, it's the demon's fault." 

"But---" 

"No buts, Sammy. And we're gonna gank that demon." 

"Gank?" Sam echoed. "Careful, brother. You sound like a hunter." 

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, some of 'em are good people," he said. "Could sound a lot worse." 

Straightening, but not completely slipping from the circle of Dean's arms, Sam wiped his cheeks and eyes. Dean watched him; he observed for signs of crumbling. He was satisfied when he saw Sam give him a watery smile. 

"Pie?" Dean asked. 

Sam nodded. "Sounds good." 

"We can come back tomorrow if you want," Dean said, guiding Sam back to the jeep. "Or visit her parents. Whatever you want." 

Walking at Dean's side, Sam shook his head. "Y'know, I think... I think maybe I just want to focus on planning our next move," he said. "But..." 

"Yeah?" 

"Could we come back on our way home?" Sam asked. 

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder with his hand. "Yeah, Sammy. We can do that."

#####

_As his teacher stared down at him, Dean did his best to look apologetic. He shrugged his shoulders and ducked his head and tried to make his eyes as big as possible, like when he wanted an extra slice of pie for dessert._

_Miss LeBlanc wasn't buying it, though._

_"Dean. You poured a cup of water on Heather's head," she said. "This is the third time this month you've done that to a student in a younger grade. I need you to tell me why you're acting out in this way."_

_His excuse had already been prepared, a mixture of fact and fiction---he learned that much from his mother already---but he couldn't just blurt it out. It needed to be delivered in a convincing manner in order for Miss LeBlanc to accept it as the truth. He had to wait for the right time._

_She crouched down next to him. "Was Heather being mean to you?" she asked._

_Dean shook his head and fidgeted a little with the zipper on his sweatshirt. "She wasn't being mean to me, ma'am," he mumbled._

_"Then, help me understand," Miss LeBlanc said. "You're a great student, Dean. A really hard worker. And you're usually so nice to other students, especially the ones being bullied or picked on."_

_"I thought... it looked like... I was wrong, but at least it was only water, right?" he said._

_"Dean."_

_He sighed. "I... I thought she was gonna be mean to Sammy."_

_Miss LeBlanc made a sympathetic sound, soft and barely audible, and she put her hand on Dean's shoulder. "Big brother stuff, huh?" she asked._

_He nodded and risked a glance at her. "He's... little. An' I need to watch out for him," Dean said, letting the truthful lie roll off his tongue. "It's my job. I don' wanna hurt anyone, so I thought water would get her to stop."_

_She smiled a bit. "Yeah, all right. How about you apologise to Heather at lunch? And I'll let you go without detention this time."_

_Dean smiled, too, using her expression as a guide. "Thanks, ma'am. I'll... hey, maybe, could I go do that right now?"_

_"Absolutely," she said._

_Dean waited until he was down the hall, away from Miss LeBlanc's gaze, before he grinned to himself. The grin of accomplishment stayed with him until he rounded the corner to his brother's classroom. When he knocked on the door, he was schooled into seriousness again. Sammy's teacher, Mister Cavanaugh, opened the door._

_"Do you need to see your brother, Dean?" he asked._

_Making a show of swallowing and shaking his head, he whispered, "Could I see Heather? I need to 'pologise for something."_

_Mister Cavanaugh looked down at him. He had a much more scrutinizing gaze than Miss LeBlanc; Dean wondered if he could see through Dean's act until he nodded and called for Heather to come to the door._

_The apology was easy to deliver. She didn't react to the holy water; she wasn't a demon, so Dean didn't have a problem with her. And, thankfully, it was easy to receive. Heather smiled at him and he was sure he was home free._

_But, then, just before she turned to go back into her classroom, she leaned in and whispered, "You do that again? I'll kick you in the jewels."_

_Once Dean recovered from his initial shock, once the door was closed again and he was on his way back to his classroom, he let out a little laugh. She'd be okay for Sammy; she'd be a good friend. She might not know anything about the_ real _world, but she seemed pretty brave._

#####

Once the protective hex bags were out, on the table between them, Dean took a drink from his beer and tried to find the words. Sam was sitting across from him, shifting his weight in his chair and tapping his fingers against the warped surface of the table. He wasn't glaring, but Dean knew if he didn't share what he knew about recent events within the next ten minutes, Sam would be glaring at him.

Could he tell Sam about the demon in his bedroom when he was a baby? Could he tell Sam that John wouldn't listen to him when he said he saw the demon's yellow eyes? 

"Dean?" 

"I'm just trying to figure out how far back to go," he told Sam. 

"Like, the last two years or..." 

Dean sighed. "Further." 

Sam---not surprisingly, at all---glared at him. "You've been keeping secrets? From me?" he asked. His glare softened into a gooey-eyed stare. "We promised each other we'd never do that." 

"Yeah, we promised each other that. And other things," Dean said. An accusation was on the tip of his tongue, but he did his best to swallow it down. His abandonment issues, the non-resolution of their last big argument... all of that had to wait or be buried deep enough so it wouldn't get in the way. "But, this was... I was four. And we didn't know about Dad or Mom. By the time I figured out what I'd seen... we were in the thick of it, and I didn't know what it had to do with the big picture." 

"You think it's related?" 

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. But, with everything going on right now? I don't think we can afford to decide what's relevant and what's not." 

"Tell me," Sam murmured. 

He was sure it would bite him in the ass later, but he gave in to Sam's quiet demand. He told Sam about the night he'd been in Sam's room, watching out for him while wearing a ridiculous Hallowe'en mask, because Mary was visiting a friend and John was working in his study. He told Sam about the man who appeared in the doorway, his eyes glowing yellow in the light from Sam's mobile, and how he lingered over Sam's crib but Dean couldn't see what he was doing. Sam didn't interrupt once; he listened quietly and seemingly patiently, until Dean was finished. 

"Why were you dressed as Batman?" 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Because Batman protects people and I wanted to protect you!" he exclaimed. 

Sam smiled a bit, ducking his head down as he looked at Dean through his bangs. "Thanks, jerk." 

"You're welcome, bitch." 

"Did you tell Dad?" Sam asked. 

After a nod, Dean said, "Yeah, right after the guy disappeared. Ran down as soon as I knew Lemon was gone, and I told him there was a man with yellow eyes in your room." 

Sam leaned forward. "What did he say?" he asked. 

"That monsters with yellow eyes don't exist anymore," Dean replied. He sipped from his bottle of beer. "And that I should keep my mouth shut and not tell stories. You know that look he has when he wants you to shut up and stop pestering him? First time I ever saw that face." 

"Why... obviously they're wrong," Sam said. He ran a hand through his hair. "You didn't see what he did to me? Or hear anything?" 

Dean shook his head. "Sorry, Sammy. I wanted to say or do something to stop him or spy on him, but---" 

"No, no, I didn't mean---" Sam interrupted quickly, and then stopped for a moment. "I'm glad you were there, but I'm really glad you stayed hidden. If he'd hurt you, Dean, or worse... I wouldn't have had you here now, or while growing up, and I couldn't have done that without you here. I wouldn't have---" 

"Yes, you would have," Dean said, not wanting to hear Sam declare he wouldn't have survived alone. "You might've ended up as one of Dad's flunkies, so maybe I saved you from that, but Sammy, you're smart. And strong. You'd get along fine." 

Frowning, Sam picked up his beer. "Not so sure about that," he mumbled before drinking from the bottle. "So, did you tell Mom?" 

"Yeah." 

"And she believed you," Sam guessed. When Dean nodded, he snorted. "Well, now that makes a bit more sense." 

Not following Sam's train of thought, Dean felt his face scrunch up in confusion. "What does?" 

"You and Dad," Sam replied. "You and Mom, too, for that matter. You used to say he was a liar, above and beyond what we're all already lying about. I never understood." 

"That's a big part of it," Dean admitted. "But, Dad... I'm not gonna beg him for scraps, Sammy. He made a choice when there shouldn't have been one. He has my loyalty as much as I've got his." 

Sam frowned. "Dean…" 

"I love him," Dean said. "I just don't like him." 

"Or trust him," Sam added. 

"Or that," Dean agreed. 

Sam sighed. He leaned back in his chair, and fiddled with his bottle of beer. After a minute, he asked, "So, what was the monster with the yellow eyes?" 

"It's… a demon," Dean replied. "Tried to look around at the bunker when I wasn't being babysat by Lemon or the other goons, then checked some books at Bobby's... and after a while he and I figured it's probably a Prince of Hell." 

"A what?" 

Dean shrugged. "There are different classifications of demon. Knights of Hell, like Cain and Abaddon and a few others, they were like a hit squad, I guess? The Princes were some of the first. Bad motherfuckers. Books say the archangels smited the crap out of the Knights… say the Princes are dead, too, but…" 

"But you saw one," Sam said once Dean's voice dwindled into silence. 

Dean nodded. "Yellow eyes." 

"Knights have red eyes?" Sam asked. 

"Red... no one knows for sure. One of Bobby's books said red eyes might be for the King of Hell, but who knows," Dean replied. "Think that's Lucifer? Or maybe someone else?" 

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Never saw anything about the classification of demons when I had to study them." He paused, tapped his beer bottle, and then said, "Lucifer's not a demon, either." 

"Yeah, well. Still don't wanna meet him." 

"If he's even real," Sam added. 

"Good point," Dean agreed. "Haven't exactly found proof on that." 

Sam exhaled. Dean watched him turn his head and look off into the distance; he wanted to ask what was on Sam's mind, but he knew better than to rush him. Sam liked to think things through thoroughly before acting or talking; Dean was more likely to rush into a situation or blurt out a half-formed thought. 

It took a few minutes, but Sam did eventually turn back to Dean. "You know," he said, "we learned a bit of Enochian magic, we studied the basics of angel lore… and the basics of demon lore, too, but have you ever wondered why we've never been taught about the Bible, what's fact and what's fiction?" 

Sam's question caught Dean off-guard. He hadn't expected that train of thought. 

"You think that's where we should focus?" Dean asked. 

Sam nodded. "They've got all that stuff locked up," he said. "It's gotta be important. There has to be a reason why we're not allowed to read those books." 

"Makes sense," Dean agreed. 

He remembered asking Lemon and the other Men of Letters about angels and demons and God and Heaven and Hell; he remembered never quite getting all the information he ever wanted. By the time he was smart enough to sneak into the library on his own and find the answers, the books had been locked up with spells and technology. Bobby had helped; he'd given Dean all the information he possessed on demon lore, but he hadn't had much on angel lore. He'd love to get his hands on those volumes and finally _see_ what was written on their pages. 

"How're we gonna do this?" Sam asked. 

"Carefully," Dean replied. "Can't tip 'em off. Not right away, anyway. I'm gonna call Bobby, see what sort of information he has---or what he can get his hands on." 

Sam scowled. "Bobby?" 

"Yeah. He's been helping me a lot," Dean said. "I know you don't like him, because we always got dumped there---" 

"No," Sam interjected, "I never liked him because of the way he spoke about Dad." 

"Well, maybe, ya think he's got a reason for not liking or trusting him?" Dean asked. "Maybe there's a reason not all hunters are on board with what the Men of Letters are doing?" 

Sam huffed. "I know, okay. I know. But, he's still our father." 

Dean snorted. "Yeah, yeah." 

"You think Bobby can help?" Sam asked. "You trust him?" 

"I trust him way more than Dad," Dean said. When Sam's eyes widened, showing surprise even after everything else they'd discussed, Dean shrugged. "Sammy, I know you don't see eye-to-eye with Bobby on the Men of Letters stuff, but he's good people. I'm not asking you to break up with Dad. I'm only asking you to trust my judgement." 

Sam's scowl faded, melting into a more neutral expression. After a long pause, he nodded. "All right. Fine. I can do that," he said. "But, I want you to trust me in return." 

"Always. Unless you want me to go to Dad and confess all my huntin' sins," Dean replied. 

With a hint of a smile, Sam shook his head. "Nah, nothing that drastic," he replied. "But, they do know stuff. The gadgets alone, Dean. We could use them and save lives." 

Dean didn't want to concede that Sam made a point worth considering. He gravitated towards the hunter's toolkit---exorcisms, beheadings, silver knives and bullets---because even if he could use the items in the Men of Letters' possession he would always find them to be cruel. He'd seen vampires irradiated; it was a grisly sight. He'd been in the laboratory when they'd been testing the rugaru weapon; he wouldn't have wished that torture on his worst enemy. 

"We can save lives, yeah," Dean agreed. "Let's just figure out where we're standin' first, okay?" 

"Okay," Sam replied. "Just... Lennon was showing me their latest---" 

"Rugaru or werewolf?" Dean interrupted. 

"Rugaru," Sam said. "The gun was impressive. Especially if it does what he said it does." 

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, but it ain't pretty." 

"What do you mean?" 

"It's like the difference between those sticky-paper traps and an old fashioned mouse trap," Dean said, trying to explain. "The way Lemon and Gordon and Creepy and the guy from London cheered after the ray gun worked? Sent chills through me, man." 

Sam frowned. "That bad?" 

"That bad," Dean said. "But, look. If you want to use them, I'm not gonna stand in your way. I have a toolkit I trust, and you gotta find your own way. I support that." 

"Really?" 

After a sip of his beer, Dean nodded. "Yeah. I'm still on your side. You wanna try those gadgets out, I've got your back," he replied. 

"Then, I can have yours if you wanna go to Bobby," Sam said.

#####

_Sammy had been silent ever since they met at the school's front steps; Dean was getting nervous. Sammy stewed; sometimes it helped to cool down his temper, but sometimes it helped his temper rage even hotter. Judging from the set of Sammy's shoulders and the way his little hands were curled into fists, Dean was pretty sure he knew which way his anger was heading._

_"Sammy?" Dean asked, when they were halfway home. "Uh, you got something on your mind?"_

_"Yeah, like maybe what you did to Heather today," Sammy grumbled._

_"I apologised!" Dean exclaimed._

_"So? That doesn't excuse what you did!"_

_"It was just a little holy water!" Dean said, trying to defend his actions. "I just needed to make sure---"_

_"Make sure what?" Sam asked. "You think I can't check my own friends?"_

_Dean had been about to continue his defense, but Sam's words made him stop talking and walking. "You did?" he asked. "Really?"_

_Sam nodded, sending his floppy hair bouncing around his head. "I did. I'm not a dummy," he replied. "I even checked your friends. Betcha didn't know 'bout that."_

_"I... I didn't."_

_"I can help, Dee," Sammy insisted. "All you hadda do was tell me."_

_Dean sighed. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't wanna make you sad if we found out one of your friends wasn't... safe."_

_The anger drifted out of Sammy's posture. "Thanks, Dee," he whispered._

_They resumed walking, Dean nudging Sammy with his shoulder as they moved. Sammy nudged him back._

_"Jimmy's fine," Sammy said. "But Rhonda… hate to break it to ya, she's got cooties."_

_Dean laughed and pulled his arm around Sammy's shoulders. "Yeah, you're probably right about that," he agreed._


	4. Chapter 4

"That's it, Winchester. One more set." 

Sam nodded and took up his fighter's stance again. Eliot, an officer who specialized in different fighting techniques, had offered to give him a refresher course and see where he needed to focus to prepare to go back in the field. Sam decided to take him up on the offer after he and Dean returned from Colorado; Dean approved of the decision and hoped it would get Sam closer to the other initiates and officers. 

As he aimed his punches to the cushioned mitts Eliot wore on his hands, he caught a glimpse of his brother entering the gym and heading over to the treadmills. He didn't wave or call out to him; they'd decided to act as if they were separate, as divided as John, Lemon, and the others had tried to divide them hoped they would become. He hated it, but Sam knew it was the best way for him to gain the trust of those who knew the secret they had to uncover. 

Sam's last strike had a bit more force than he'd intended. Eliot grinned at him. 

"I might turn you into a fighter yet," he said. 

Sam laughed and wiped his face with his shirt. "Good," he replied. "Got a possible ghost to investigate tomorrow, so glad to hear I might survive." 

"You goin' on that run with your brother?" Eliot asked. 

"Plannin' on it," Sam said. 

Eliot frowned. "You sure about that?" he asked. "I mean, he's smart an' all, but in the field… really?" 

He finished talking with a small gesture towards Dean. Sam followed the gesture; he assumed Eliot's problem with Dean was similar to John's problem with Dean. He didn't want to play along, but he knew he had to in order to seem as though he were loyal to the Men of Letters. 

"He's clever," Sam said. "He'll help me wrap it up quickly." 

"He's a liability," Eliot argued. 

As if Dean knew they were watching him, he tripped. He never fell, not completely, but it did take him a few running steps to right himself and to release the side bars on the running machine. 

Eliot snorted. "Look, he's book-smart, sure. And he'll be able to get you where you need to go," he said, guiding Sam towards the locker room. "Just promise me you won't take him in the field." 

"Wasn't plannin' on it," Sam lied. 

Eliot nodded, approving of his decision. "All right, then. How about we go get cleaned up and then grab a bite in the kitchen?" he suggested. 

Sam forced himself to smile. "Sounds good." 

As he untied his shoulder-length hair, Eliot grinned and walked out of the gym. Sam hesitated for a moment; he looked over his shoulder at Dean. After they exchanged a brief wave, Sam turned to follow Eliot's path. 

He knew Dean was playing up a rouse, to seem ineffectual and non-threatening, but he wondered what had happened to make Dean believe that was the best path to take.

#####

_"I can?" Sammy asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Really?"_

_His father laughed and ruffled Sammy's hair with one hand. "Yeah, you can, Son," he replied. "Got a recommendation from Eliot's dad, and the dojo where he studies starts a new class in two weeks."_

_"Thanks, Dad!"_

_Sammy wrapped his arms around his father's waist for a hug; he felt his grin stretch when his father's hand settled between his shoulder blades._

_"Maybe you could convince your brother to join you," his father said. "He's got it in his head that he wants to take guitar lessons, and no son of mine is gonna be a musician."_

_Sammy's grin faded as he pulled away from his father. "But… if I can't?" he asked. "Do I still get to take the classes?"_

_His father kneeled down in front of Sammy. "Of course you do," he said. "It's gonna be tough. You'll still have your dead languages to study, and your spell work. On top of your regular schooling."_

_"I can handle it!" Sam exclaimed._

_"I know you can," his father said. "You always make me proud."_

#####

As soon as one of the spirits released them, Sam was jumping and tumbling across the dilapidated sitting room to find the iron poker. 

But, before he could line up a swing, he heard Dean's shotgun blasting rounds of rock salt across the room. 

"Sammy?!" 

"I'm good," Sam replied. 

"Well, c'mon," Dean said. "Grab my other shotgun. We gotta get out back to the cemetery." 

"We could've done this during the day," Sam groaned. "Ghosts rarely come out during daytime." 

Dean snorted. "The first attack happened at eight in the morning, Sammy. Remember the real estate agent?" 

Sam groaned again and pulled himself to his feet. He was not in the kind of shape that Dean was---he could barely keep up with Dean---and he was beginning to really wonder how Dean could keep his fitness and reflexes hidden from some of the so-called sharpest and brightest minds in the supernatural world. 

A few clumsy acts and hiding behind books and computers couldn't be enough to fool them all. 

He grabbed the bag of gear, tucked his gun into his waistband, and grabbed the shotgun Dean had loaded for him. Dean had reloaded his at that point; he used his weapon to motion towards the door and he waited until Sam limped through it before he followed. 

"O'Connell," Dean mumbled. "All three. Should only be three, according to county records." 

Nodding, Sam hurried his pace. They entered the old cemetery after a bit of a walk; it gave Sam time to review what Dean told him about the property. 

Once upon a time, the farm had been a major hub in the community, with three homesteads on it and three families sharing the work as well as offering some employment to the town, and they kept a small plot for graves beyond one of the orchards. The families had been perceived as polygamists, but Dean guessed they were polyamorous because there wasn't a lot of religious or cult evidence on the property or in the papers; when someone wanted the land for a hotel, they'd started rumours about their private lives to convince the town to push the people out of the community. The rumours led to violence and three of the residents were killed. The murders soured the land deal; the hotel company found another piece of land and the family kept the farm running for another few years before they moved away. It stayed theirs for a long time. But it was up for sale, finally, and anyone who ventured onto the land ended up terrorized by ghosts. The spirits weren't too happy with strangers on their land. 

It wasn't until a serious offer was made that the ghosts became a problem. Locals knew better than to visit the property, but the real estate agent and the surveyor hadn't known better. The surveyor had been killed. The real estate agent had gotten away with a dislocated shoulder and a bunch of bruises. 

Dean had gotten the case from Bobby. After Dean brought it to their father's attention, it was easy to get themselves assigned to the case. Sam had wanted to turn it down because it came from a hunter, but he'd promised Dean they'd go on a hunt together and he couldn't risk John discovering that Dean had a relationship with a hunter who didn't work for the Men of Letters. But, Dean wanted to see how they'd work together and Sam wanted to get back into shape, so he relented and agreed to take on the job. He hadn't anticipated how rusty his reflexes had gotten while he was studying at Stanford. He'd be feeling those bruises for days. 

Sam whistled when he found the first grave. Dean tossed him a shovel---Sam didn't know where he found those, but he hadn't brought them into the house when they'd checked for other victims---and Sam focused on the task of digging a grave. 

It should have made his stomach squirm. The idea of digging up a grave did, for sure, but the practice of it, combined with the knowledge that it would save lives and would put a few souls to rest, too, made the discomfort bearable. 

By the time he finished uncovering Sandy O'Connell's coffin, Dean had uncovered Jessica O'Connell's coffin, too. They cracked the lids and doused the bodies in salt and fuel, but they didn't set a fire. Instead, they moved to Timothy O'Connell's grave and started digging. 

"You think these three were together?" Dean asked. 

"They could've been siblings," Sam said. 

"I like the idea of this being some sort of eighteenth century hippy-dippy commune," Dean said as he worked. 

Sam chuckled. "Of course you do." 

"What?" 

"You remember telling me that if a person I'm dating wants to go steady, I should probably break it off with them?" Sam asked. 

Dean snorted and wiped his face. "Yeah, well... commitment isn't for everyone." 

"You find anyone to settle down with?" Sam asked. 

After throwing a shovel full of dirt over his shoulder and beyond the grave, Dean glared at him. "Seriously? You're asking me this now?" he asked. "Really, Sam?" 

Sam shrugged. "What? You never mentioned... I'm curious." 

Dean huffed out a laugh. "Some investigator you are," he said, his voice and mood changing into something more playful. "You were in my room. Did you see any cutesy pictures? You haven't seen me taking any strange phone calls, have you? Where do you think I'm hiding this relationship?" 

"I'm interested in your life, jerk. Tell me something." 

"I hooked up with a waitress from this diner outside of Lawrence two weeks ago. She was seriously bendy." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Honestly? No long term... anything?" 

"When would I have time to fit that in?" Dean asked. 

"Okay, fine, good point," Sam admitted. 

"Why the sudden interest in my lack of a love life?" Dean asked. 

Sam threw two more shovels of dirt over his shoulder before replying. "I don't like the idea of you alone," he said, "and with no outlet. How do you unwind? I'm exhausted and I've only been back for a few days. And you've been doing this for years." 

"Well, Dad wasn't gonna let me leave, now was he?" Dean said. 

There was a little sting in his tone and Sam felt it. He knew there were sour points between them---for instance, Sam got to take the extracurriculars he'd wanted to take when they were in grade school, while Dean was rarely allowed to explore his own interests---but he thought most of those points had been handled or repaired. 

Judging from the tone in Dean's words, they still had a bit of work to do on the issue of Sam leaving to go to school. 

"Dean---" 

"It's fine," Dean interrupted. "Let's just finish this. I wanna be on the road by dawn. I have been craving waffles like you wouldn't believe." 

Sam bit his lip but let the subject drop. In near-silence, they finished uncovering the last coffin. Dean climbed out of the hole to get the accelerant and salt; Sam cracked the lid like he'd done with the others. By the time Sam crawled out of the grave, Dean was ready to pour so Sam found the matches to light all three graves on fire. 

"Think this'll do it?" Sam asked as they stood and watched the three bodies burn. 

"It should," Dean replied. "I'm a little surprised they didn't come gunning for us, though. They usually do before the salt-and-burn portion of the night." 

"Really?" Sam said. 

Dean nodded. "That's been my experience. They don't like to go quietly." 

"Maybe they're tied to something in the house," Sam suggested. 

"Maybe." 

"We can stick around a day or so, keep an eye on the place," Sam said. "It's not like we have anywhere else to be, right?" 

Dean nodded again. 

When Sam's public cell phone started buzzing in his pocket, he sighed. He wanted to spend the night with Dean, learning what he'd never had time to learn before; he wanted to pretend they were just hunters, without all of the spy game crap waiting for them back in Lebanon. Anyone calling on that phone would not be interested in helping him continue to pretend. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Son," John said, his tone pleasant. "How are things going in Hawk Springs?" 

"Fine, Dad," Sam replied. He saw Dean scowl out of the corner of his eye. "We're just wrapping up. What's going on?" 

"I just want to check in and see if you have anything planned tonight," John said. 

Sam frowned. "Ah, well, we wanted to stick around and make sure we got everyone put to rest, sir," he said. "And, we hadn't discussed it yet, but I wanted to take the long way home... maybe stop at a roadhouse, and then see if Grandpa's up for a visit the next day." 

"This is how you're going to track down the demon?" John asked. 

Reining in the urge to sigh, Sam said, "No, but Dean and I are working on---" 

"We have a team of the best and brightest and you only want to work with Dean on this?" John asked. 

Sam's temper, often easily accessible but even more so in that moment thanks to his grief and exhaustion, flashed. He remembered his young impression of the before and after in John's relationship with Dean; he remembered being afraid it would happen to him, too. But, then, he thought about how he'd feel being on the receiving end of John's attitude, day in and day out, and the guilt he felt for leaving Dean in that position sparked even more anger. 

The sense of peace he'd been trying to keep shattered as his temper grew stronger. 

"Stop saying stuff like that!" Sam snapped. "You have no idea! You write him off like it's nothing, like he's nothing, and you're wrong, and I'm sick of hearing you talk that way!" 

John snorted. A quick glance to the side of the grave revealed Dean staring at Sam with wide green eyes. 

"Sam---" 

"No," Sam said, cutting off whatever John was going to say. "I'll stay and give this legacy thing a try, like you want, but if I do, you are going to knock it off." 

John remained silent. Sam steadied himself, prepared for several different outcomes, and he waited. 

"Fine, son," John said, his tone softer than it had been earlier. "You've made your point." 

Sam could've pressed his luck, demanding an actual accord, but he decided against that course of action. Dean didn't look too happy with him, and pushing would only make John angry, too. 

"So, ah, was there something you wanted us to do on our way home?" Sam asked. 

After clearing his throat, and giving Sam enough time to put the call out on his phone's speaker, John said, "Yeah, actually. We've got Gordon out near you, in Lyman, tracking some demon signs. And I thought Dean could drop you off there, if you were interested in helping out." 

Sam looked at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes. 

"What do you want Dean to do? Wait around?" 

"No, he can come back," John replied. "I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a clean-up for him in the next day or so. Let you work some frustration out on some demons, let Dean get back to work. How about it?" 

Dean snorted. When Sam looked at him again, Dean shrugged. 

Sam sighed. "Sure, if that's... uh, yeah, all right." 

"Great. Get there by tomorrow night. Gordon's impatient." 

As soon as John ended the call, hanging up on them without a good-bye, Dean groaned. 

"What?" Sam asked. 

"An impatient Gordon. Just what the world needs," Dean muttered. 

Sam shrugged. "He's a good hunter." 

Dean scowled back at him. "And Hannibal Lecter's a good psychiatrist." 

Not expecting that sort of comment, Sam felt his eyebrows lift up towards his hairline. "Wow." 

"C'mon, let's get these graves covered up a bit," Dean said. "Then, we'll grab a beer and pretend you aren't going off on a demon run without me to watch your back." 

Sam shook his head as he picked up his shovel. Dean grabbed his, too, and together they filled in the holes they'd dug only a little while ago. Neither of them said anything until they were on their way back to the jeep. 

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "Just promise me you won't trust him?" he asked. "I mean, with anything. Even a coffee run." 

"I promise." 

"And you better come back in one piece," Dean added. 

Sam smiled. "I will. No matter what." 

"Good."

###

Exhausted, concerned, and only a little satisfied, Sam trudged into the bunker behind Gordon. 

Three days of staking out demons and setting a trap followed by two days of torturing those demons for information had taken its toll on Sam. He was more than a little tired. He wanted a shower and sleep, but he knew he had to get cleaned up first before going home. Mary wouldn't care, but John would care if he let himself be seen in his current state. 

He had a cut on his side that had needed stitches. Gordon's bedside manner left a lot to be desired, but at least the wound was closed and clean. He also had a few bruises on his face and torso. 

Dean was going to freak out. 

When he went to John's office to announce their return, he was relieved to learn that Dean was out on his job because he didn't want Dean to see his injuries and attack Gordon---and blow his cover. He wasn't relieved because he didn't like the idea of Dean cleaning up another hunter's mess without back-up; between curious locals, smart law enforcement officers, and the monster's kin, there could be a variety of interruptions and Sam didn't want Dean to get caught holding (or burning) a body. 

He also wished Dean was there so they could talk about the hunt---before he talked with John about it. 

"So?" John asked. "How did it go?" 

"Fine. Gordon said he'll give you the highlights after he cleans his gear," Sam replied. 

"Did we get any good intel?" John asked. 

Sam shrugged. "Not sure. It felt good to get the demons off of the streets, to make sure they can't hurt anybody again---that's for sure. And a few things they said seemed to get Gordon to blow his load, but I don't know what that was about," he replied. 

"What does that mean?" John asked. 

After another little shrug, Sam took a seat on the other side of John's desk. "He's nuts," Sam said. "You know that, right?" 

John grimaced. "I think all hunters are, to be honest, to do this sort of work," he replied. 

"He got off on it." 

"He likes his work," John said. "There's no shame in that." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure, okay." 

"He's the best vampire hunter we've got, Sam," John said, as he leaned back in his chair. "Besides, they're demons." 

"They're in people!" Sam protested. "One of them could have been alive, but Gordon was so damned sure he could get them to talk that it didn't matter!" 

Frowning, John leaned forward again. "Sam, you know demons are hard on the bodies they possess," he said. "Very few ever come out unscathed. Most are dead before the demon leaves the body. And, we've got... well, we're digging for something important---a real game changer, son." 

Sam knew it was time to yield. A strategy of minor resistance and eventual surrender was the best way to make John feel like he'd won; he'd known as soon as Gordon started with the palo santo stakes that he wanted specific and important information, and he needed to know what it was so he and Dean knew what they'd be facing. As much as he hated using his training against his father, he knew it needed to be done. He needed to secure John's trust; he needed to figure out what was happening. 

"Really?" Sam asked. 

John nodded. "It's gonna be big," he said. "Hell's got something in the works." 

"And it's worth..." Sam trailed off and waved his hand around. 

"It's war, son," John said. 

Knowing he was close, Sam tried to push for a little more information. "But... they're kids," he protested. "You know their souls were still in there! Is that what we are? Killers?" 

"You want to see the apocalypse?" John asked, his voice dropping to an angry whisper. "Just to try to protect a couple of kids who were probably dead anyway?" 

Sam didn't have to feign surprise. He knew from his studies that there were a few apocalypse-level events that could be brought into being. If it were the work of Hell, that narrowed down the focus of his and Dean's eventual search for information. He stared at his father, wondering how he could keep that big a deal secret from him and Dean for so long---because he knew that an apocalypse wasn't something that just happened, it was something that took time and planning, to get all the metaphorical (and supernatural) ducks in a row. 

"We're gonna save the world, Sam," John continued. "Doesn't mean we're gonna save it for everyone." 

His memory dragged up pictures of the bodies on the pyre he and Gordon built. They were just kids, who had no skin in a fight with demons until some of those demons stole their skin. John didn't see it that way; John's reaction bothered Sam more than he thought anything John did would ever bother him. When Dean had told him that John had changed, Sam hadn't thought much of Dean's opinion because of how he and John didn't connect. He'd seen John a little more tense than he used to be, and maybe more tired, but it wasn't until that moment that he _really_ saw what Dean meant. The father in his memories would have tried to save everyone; this version of John expected good, unsuspecting people to die. 

He wanted to flinch, to protest, and to run to Dean to tell him everything. Instead, he sighed and shifted his weight. 

"I... I guess," Sam said. 

"I don't like it, either, but if we don't strike soon, this planet's gonna get roasted. 'Hell on Earth' will become more than a saying," John said. "You get that? Or are you gonna follow in Dean's footsteps, trying to cure everything that goes bump in the night?" 

"What's wrong with that?" Sam asked. "You act like he's such a disappointment, but he's taking what you _barely_ teach him, building on it, and doing the best he can to save people. It's admirable." 

John rolled his eyes. "Admiration doesn't win wars, son." 

Sam snorted. "And what was your excuse when we were kids?" he asked. "Before he was even ten years old, you decided he wasn't enough. You didn't know about this war all the way back then, did you? Or is it something else?" 

"Sam---" 

"No, Dad. I need you to be honest with me. After everything... I need to know I can trust---I need honesty," Sam said. In an attempt to get the conversation back on track, he took a deep breath, consciously softened his body language, and looked at John as he eased his scowl into something more earnest. "Did you know about this stuff back then? " 

John remained silent for almost a whole minute. Then, after putting his hands down on the surface of his desk, he spoke. "Dean's strengths lie in research and infiltration," John said. "After that first trial, I knew he wasn't going to succeed where the action is. He isn't scientifically inclined like some of the others, either. I am keeping him where he will do the most good for us." 

Internally filing away the fact that John didn't answer his question, Sam frowned. "And me?" he asked. 

"You, son, are meant to be on the front lines," John said. "You are going to train up, sharpen those instincts I know you have, and you're going to help us fight this war." 

There was something in John's eyes that Sam had never seen before. He couldn't label it, not completely, but he thought it looked a little frantic. 

"Don't send me out with Gordon again," Sam said. 

"Fine," John agreed. 

"And I'd like to take Dean with me sometimes," Sam added. 

John almost grimaced, but he smoothed out his facial expression before it developed too much. "I'll consider it," he said. "Get me your report for the official log by tomorrow morning, all right?" 

"Yes sir," Sam said. 

He stood up and left John's office. He knew a dismissal when he heard one---especially when it was coming from his father---and he was going to take advantage of it. He needed to go home and wait for Dean to return. They had things to discuss.

#####

_"Why do we do this? Revenge?"_

_When his mother looked down at Sammy, she sighed. He had a feeling he'd disappointed her in some way, with his question, but he needed to know. When he asked his father, he was told about the glory of the institution of the Men of Letters and how they were saving the world; he was told that revenge was for hunters, how they got into the work of killing monsters, and he was going to be better than that racket._

_He needed to know why his mother was a hunter. He needed to know why he and Dean were being pulled in two different directions._

_"Revenge..." she said the word and then stopped talking. She sat down next to him on the sofa. "Some people get into hunting for revenge, that's true," she said after a long pause. "But, my family... you come from a long line of hunters. Brave men and women who were protecting people from vampires on ships like the Mayflower. All the way back then."_

_Sammy forgot about his question for a moment, his eyes going wide with curiosity as he contemplated what his mother told him. All the way back that far? It seemed impossible! He begged her to tell him more, and she laughed softly; she promised him she would tell him a story about his ancestors before bed._

_"A hunter can use revenge, sure, but Sammy... it's a fire that burns too hot and too stupid," she said, bringing their conversation back to his original question. "Hunters have gone blind to common sense when they're driven by revenge. It isn't safe and I don't want you to become that kind of person."_

_"What sort of person do you want me to become?" Sammy asked._

_His mother smiled at him. Brushing her fingers through his hair, she said, "I want you to be a protector. Someone brave and true. Someone who loves with his whole heart and does the right thing. I want you to be the person you already are, Sammy."_

_"But, I lie..."_

_"For the right reasons," she said. "Love is a truth that we'll never hide. Not from each other, not from Dean, and not from your father."_

_"And love is why I should fight monsters?" Sammy asked._

_Mary nodded. "Use something good, Sammy. Not darkness like revenge. It'll eat you up inside... and no matter what, I don't want that for you. Ever."_

#####

Sam had been lying down in the treehouse for almost an hour, thinking about everything and nothing, when Dean's head popped up through the hole in the floor. 

"Dean!" 

Dean grinned through the swollen lip and clambered up so he was sitting next to Sam, who quickly propped himself up into his own sitting position so he could get a better look at the damage. Dean swatted at his hands when they moved towards his face; he scowled and dodged Sam as best as he could. 

"I'm fine!" Dean said. "It's just a couple of bumps." 

"What happened?" Sam asked. "Did someone show up when you were cleaning up after Creedy?" 

Dean shook his head. "Nah, that was fine. Creedy's careful. Just had to delete a couple coroner reports. I went out with a hunter Bobby knows. Werewolf. I walked in on her killing her ex, she knocked me out. Dad thinks it was a bar fight." 

"Did you get bi---" 

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "She didn't see me as a threat," he added. He paused and sighed, running his hand over the back of his head. "I talked to her earlier. Thought she was a witness." 

"She... tricked you?" 

After giving his head another shake, he said, "She didn't know. Like the moon would rise and she'd check out. She was pretty freshly turned, she wasn't aware of what was happening." 

Sam frowned. "That's... awful." 

"Yeah. She was real cute. Real smart, too," Dean said. He pulled a flask from his jacket pocket. As soon as he twisted off the cap, he put the opening to his lips and drank a mouthful of what Sam was pretty sure was cheap bourbon. "You would've liked her. Your type, y'know?" 

"My type?" Sam echoed. 

Dean smiled and shrugged. "Yeah. Like the classy dresser, reading serious books, whip-smart sense of humour, takin' no shit from anyone type." 

"Dean... promise me you're not going to start trying to set me up with girls." 

"Promise," Dean replied, clapping his hand to Sam's shoulder for a brief squeeze. "Too soon?" 

"Way too soon," Sam confirmed. 

"All right," Dean agreed. 

Sam nudged into Dean with his shoulder. "So, what happened?" he asked. 

"I wanted to save her," Dean said. "For the first time, it really hit me, Sammy. Some of these monsters... they're not born monsters. They start out human. And something bites 'em or possesses 'em, and they end up at the end of a blade or bullet---just for that." 

Dean's words reminded Sam of his own hunt. The meat suits, as Gordon had called them, had been a teenagers once. They'd been students; they'd had families. Some black smoke flew into their bodies through their mouths and that was it. To Gordon---and to others, too, Sam knew--they were monsters and everything good about their lives before was lost to what those demons did while wearing their skin and bones. 

"I heard a little about your expedition," Dean said quietly. 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty brutal." 

"What did Gordon get out of them?" Dean asked. 

"It didn't make sense to me," Sam said. He stretched out his legs, pressed his feet against the opposite wall of the treehouse, and looked at Dean. "Something about an upcoming event. Gordon tried to get more, and I think he might have, but..." 

"You wussed out?" 

Sam grimaced. "No, I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't. The demons... they didn't make sense. Talking about special children and a prophecy and seals." 

"Cambion, maybe?" Dean suggested. "It does happen, every once and a while, when a demon's patient enough." 

"Yeah... maybe," Sam agreed. He hadn't considered that. He hadn't considered a lot of things, if he were being completely honest with himself; Dean's shared thoughts made him wonder how out of practice he was and how much training he needed to get to Dean's level. He looked at his brother. "Gordon sent me for coffee at one point. I think he did more, then, because I came back and one of them was dead. He told me he saw a bullet wound and realised the kid wouldn't make it... tried to press his luck." 

"Kids?" Dean asked. His eyes got a bit wider even as his eyebrows lowered. "Gordon offed kids?" 

"Three possessed teenagers. None of them made it." 

Sam let Dean curse out his disgust. Dean was a strategist---more than Sam fully realised, until they started talking about what was happening at the bunker and what Dean had been doing while Sam was at school---and a very good double agent, able to keep his temper in check. But children getting hurt was something that ramped his rage to eleven. Sam knew the best way to get Dean to calm down again was to let him fight or curse it out; he'd calm down once the flash of fire burned at a lower level. So, he leaned back on his hands and waited. 

"That son of a bitch!" Dean hissed, once he'd stopped snarling and growling. "I shouldn't be surprised, but..." 

"Yeah. I thought you were exaggerating." 

"I really wasn't." 

Sam nodded. "I know that now." 

"Did you tell Dad?" 

"I did. Get this," Sam replied, "Dad says an apocalypse is on the books. Or Hell's trying to put it on the books." 

Dean frowned. "The apocalypse? Really?" 

"You don't believe him?" Sam asked. 

"It's just... monsters and demons, sure. But the apocalypse? I always thought those sorts of events were fairy tales. Even with everything we know," Dean explained. "What's next? Is God real?" 

"Assuming it's the Judeo-Christian apocalypse..." 

"Well, yeah. I mean, what else would demons be able to jumpstart?" Dean asked. "Unless everything's all the same, and they have access to all that scary mojo because it's just one end of the world. Maybe we've had it wrong from the start." 

Sam frowned. He prayed semi-regularly. It was one of the few things he learned from his mother that he cherished in warm thoughts and feelings. He believed in God. He wanted God to be real. Lore insisted He was, but there wasn't much in the way of proof to corroborate that into fact. Sam took it on faith. He didn't want the demons to be able to bring another religion's end into being; if they could, then it could mean that it was all just power. The idea of a Godless world made Sam's heart hurt. 

After leaning back against the wall of their semi-private hideaway, Dean looked at Sam. "We gotta figure out what Gordon learned," he said, shaking Sam from his thoughts. "It could be important." 

"I think he was going to tell Dad," Sam said. "Maybe I can figure out a way... ask if he found out anything I didn't include in my report. Or..." 

"Tell Dad you're in. That you've slept on it... that you see he has a point," Dean said. "Tell him... you don't want anyone to die, but it's more important to save the world." 

"How---" 

"You think he and I haven't had this argument?" Dean said, after a little snort. "If he's focused on that big picture, if you take his side... he might let you in." 

Sam sighed. Despite Sam's reservations about misleading John, he was keeping secrets and they needed to know what they were. Sam was committed to Dean; they shared a profound bond that kept them sane through their bizarre childhood. He wasn't going to abandon his brother---not after everything Dean had done for him in their past. 

"Yeah, that's a good plan," Sam eventually agreed. "I'll try it tomorrow. Before the staff meeting." 

"That's good. That morning meeting pisses him off. He says it keeps him away from doing important work," Dean said. 

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Sam asked. "Another clean-up job?" 

Dean's mouth curved down into a small frown. "No, I don't think so. I'm supposed to be researching Samuel Colt's whereabouts in eighteen-sixty-one, but... I want to look up the werewolf cure experiments. I know the European guys were doing something with a blood serum, I just don't remember all the details." 

Sam frowned, too. "She really got to you, didn't she?" 

"She... yeah. I mean, I know I said she was your type, but I could see you in her, too, a bit... it messed me up." 

"What happened?" Sam asked. "Did the other hunter---" 

"She asked me to do it," Dean confessed. "Rufus offered, but... she asked me." 

"Dean..." 

He nodded and sighed. Wanting to comfort him, Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You did the best you could," Sam said. "And the cure... even if it worked, it's like the vamp cure. It would have to be administered before they ate their first heart." 

"I know," Dean mumbled. "Just... it was like..." 

"Killing me?" Sam asked. 

"It sounds dumb when you say it out loud, but yeah," Dean admitted. 

Sam exhaled slowly. After a pause, he slipped his hand to Dean's other shoulder, the one farthest from him, and he pulled Dean into his body in a firm but partial embrace. 

"You didn't kill me," he whispered. "And I know you did everything you could for her." 

"Doesn't feel like it," Dean muttered. 

"Do you need help researching?" Sam asked. "I will if---" 

Dean shook his head. He eased away from Sam, but not completely. They were still physically close, touching at their shoulders and where Sam's hand was still pressed into Dean's back; for all the time they spent apart while Sam was off at school and Dean was stuck in the family business, Sam realised how much he had missed Dean and wanted to reconnect with him. 

As he realised that, he felt pressure from a thought he'd been doing his best to push away since he returned home. _Jessica_. _The dreams_. If anyone would understand... Dean would. Or, at least, he'd try. 

The words were on the tip of his tongue, and then Dean spoke and the impulse disintegrated. 

"It'll be better for you if we put a bit of distance between us." 

Sam nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea---instead of shivering at the fear of it. "Might be too late for that," he said. 

"What did you tell him?" Dean asked. 

"Just... he said he wants me to sharpen my skills, go out on hunts, and I said I would if I could bring you with me." 

After levelling an incredulous expression in Sam's direction, Dean chuckled. "I bet Dad loved that," he said. "Asked you who would be teaching who? Or how long would it take you to get sick of savin' my ass?" 

"He said he'd consider it," Sam replied. 

Dean chuckled. "I bet he will." 

"I need to learn," Sam said. "I'm rusty. Beyond rusty. And you're..." 

"Not useless?" Dean supplied when Sam trailed off, mid-sentence. 

Sam nudged him. "No, man. 'Good' is what I was going to say. And you've got skills I won't learn here." 

"'Hey, Dad, your pride and joy and I are just gonna hit the road for a few months and hunt some monsters.'" 

After another nudge, Sam grinned at Dean. "I dare you to tell him that," he said. 

Dean rested his head against Sam's shoulder as he laughed. "If we weren't about to wade into some deep shit, I might, just to see the look on his face," Dean admitted. "God, can you imagine? He'd... lose it." 

"The vein in his forehead," Sam added, chuckling. 

"It'd explode, oh yeah," Dean agreed. 

They shared a little more laughter, the situation both so serious and so silly that they couldn't react any other way, and then their laughter faded into a comfortable silence. Sam wanted to ask about what they should tell Mary, and when, and he wanted to continue to pick apart his next step against John. But, more than anything, he wanted to sit a little while longer with Dean and enjoy the peace they found in their hideaway.


	5. Chapter 5

_He was supposed to be in the library, reading a really, really boring book about the nesting habits of vampires. When his father was called to the war room, Dean's focus went with him. He couldn't really hear much at first, only low murmurings, but they were building up in intensity until John shouted curses at the group gathered together._

_"He's in the cage! He can't get out!" Dean heard his father bellow. "What difference does any of it make if he's still trapped?!"_

_Dean frowned. He wondered if his father and the other people were holding someone prisoner in the dark room. He hadn't been down there in a while because he didn't like what he had to learn when he was in that place; he wouldn't necessarily know if they'd brought a bad guy to the lower levels. The grown-ups didn't talk about top secret stuff around him._

_"You think they'll just stop trying?" Lemon asked "Lilith might be in the pit, but they'll find a way to break that gate, and when they do---" he broke off and cursed. From his position against the wall, near the door, Dean could hear shuffling and shifting and low mumbles from the other adults. When Lemon spoke again, his voice was calmer. "We need to make it impossible for them to find the vessels---any of the vessels. Put a stop to it before it can start."_

_"Death won't solve anything," Dean's father said. "Angels can rebuild the vessels' bodies and restore their souls."_

_"You've given them access to everything that will make them desirable!" Lemon shouted. "We have to do something!"_

_"We don't even know if it's them," Dean's father said. "This stuff is so theoretical. It could be any pair of descendants. From any time. Their children, or their children's children. I could even be one of them. Do you think I'd say 'yes,' knowing everything I know about what could happen?"_

_"No, of course not, but---"_

_Dean's father continued talking. "For that matter, it could be Mary or another relative, or another pair of relatives! As much as London thinks they know everything, they_ don't. _We learned they aren't all-powerful the hard way."_

_More voices contributed to the conversation, but in low murmurs so Dean couldn't hear any distinct words. No one sounded happy; if anything, Dean would have guessed that they sounded sad and mad, but not with his father._

_As he shifted his weight to try to lean closer to the room, to try to hear what they were saying, Dean slipped against the edge of the doorframe and had to fumble to the railing so he didn't fall down the short set of stairs. His sneakers squeaked against the floor in the process. Before he could run off and find a new listening position, his father appeared at the bottom of the short staircase._

_"Dean?"_

_"Sorry, I just... I finished the book and---"_

_He stopped talking when he saw the expression on his father's face. Dean could see that he was angry---he was beyond angry, really---but there was something worse in his father's face. His eyes were wide and white and his teeth were bared like he was a wild animal defending himself in one of those documentaries Sammy was always watching._

_Grabbing Dean's arm as he stormed up the steps, he pulled Dean along as he marched to his private office. Dean squeaked when he landed in the visitor chair; he tried to scoot the chair back as his father bent down and got in his face._

_"What did you hear?" he asked. When Dean hesitated, he rocked the chair onto its back legs and jostled Dean with the force of his actions. "Answer me, Dean!"_

_Like with so many of his other encounters with his father, Dean knew he couldn't tell the truth. He looked into his father's terrifyingly furious face and said, "Just the part where you started talking about London! I swear, Dad! I just got up to tell you I finished and---"_

_"You swear?"_

_"Yes!" Dean exclaimed._

_He watched his father sag, hanging his head down as he breathed deeply. Then, after two breaths, he looked back up at Dean._

_"You're going to stay in here and write a report on vampires and their nesting habits. From memory," he said. "You're not leaving this room until you're finished---and I've read it."_

_Dean held in his reaction until his father left the room. Then, he muttered a bad word he'd heard his mother and Rufus say a few times before getting up and walking over to his father's bookshelf. The book he was reading wasn't there, but there were two others---two that were mentioned in every section of his assigned reading---that he could use._

_Dean settled in and did what he was told to do---for the most part. It would be easier that way._

#####

After greeting Eliot with a nod---and receiving a grunt in return---Dean made his way through the room of monitoring equipment and entered the library. He thought about dropping his coat off in his room, but he wanted to get to work. The memory of Madison's tear-streaked face was too fresh in his mind. He had to do better than a silver bullet to the heart---especially for those who didn't know what they were. 

The sooner he dug up something on that attempt at a werewolf cure, the sooner he could start thinking about improvements to their method that could take the experiments to a workable solution. He knew it wouldn't be easy since he wasn't a scientist; he also knew the vampire cure his mother had given him was more potion than medication and he hoped the same principles would apply. If he tried and failed, he would feel better than if he didn't try at all. 

He tossed his belongings into the corner of the room. A chair put them on display and he did not want that; he knew better than to risk anyone coming in and immediately noticing Jensen was absent from the table. Hidden between the wall and a trunk of weapons, it would be safe from cursory glances. 

It was odd, he thought, as he moved through the stacks. He was supposed to be a part of the Men of Letters organisation---he went through the initiation process, signed the documents, and did their work---but he really wasn't a part of the group. He was supposed to have unlimited access to the information in those stacks and vaults; but he knew they would keep him from any information he wanted if they thought his interests and theirs weren't exactly in line. 

They watched him. They assumed he had little purpose and they didn't _see_ him, but they still watched him. He didn't understand. 

So, he used his sneaky skill set and slipped into the rows of shelves. He passed the history books and volumes of sanctioned spells, avoided the demonic and angelic sections in case they were still warded, and kept walking through the bulk of the creatures. When he hit the series of shelves on werewolves, he looked around his surroundings before ducking into the first row. 

It took a while, but he found the books he was seeking. Two volumes about Martin Luther, and one book that summarized the steps taken in the development of the cure; in the last volume, he found a note about the actual project notes and that a copy could be found in the records room. He committed the filing number to memory, knowing he'd go there after he put the books in his bag. 

As he skimmed the spines of the last row of books, he found a book that should not have been there. 

_Archangels and the Holy Host: Myths Versus Recounted Evidence Pertaining to the Existence of Heavenly Beings_ stared up at Dean as he held the volume in his hand. 

He couldn't believe his luck. 

Before he left his seemingly safe place between the shelving units, he tucked the book about angels into his jeans' waistband and ensured it was well-covered by his shirts. He did not want to get caught smuggling the misfiled book out of the library; it could be his and Sam's only chance to learn real information about Heaven. 

His pulse quickened more than it would have if he were only carrying werewolf books out to the reading area. He took a deep breath as he moved, going deeper into the stacks before turning to his preferred and less-illuminated path out of the shelves, but it didn't do much to calm his circulatory system. He could barely wait to read the book he was hiding, to learn more than he'd been allowed to learn as one of the Men of Letters' initiates. 

Voices coming closer stopped Dean from proceeding out from between two bookcases. He managed to pull himself back into the shadows before a group of three walked down the aisle he'd intended to take for his escape. He saw Eliot, his long hair Dean's only clue in the dim lighting, but he couldn't determine who the other two were at first look. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, he decided to follow them. 

"We need to start meeting outside of the bunker," Eliot grumbled. 

The next person to speak was Lila Ackers. Dean would recognise her slightly accented voice---a product of a British mother and American father, and time spent in both countries---anywhere. He'd had very satisfying daydreams about that voice begging so sweetly before he realised what an awful human being she really was. Once he'd learned about her true nature, her voice put him on the bad sort of edge. 

"Winchester's in his office. No one else is here," she said. 

Dean frowned as he heard Eliot agree and relent. 

"What do you want to talk about, then?" Eliot asked. 

"Demons are crawling out of the pit," the third person, Ed Power, said. "Gordon said they're putting the pieces in place. Azazel's gathering his forces." 

"We've known that for a while," Eliot said. 

"But Sam Winchester is back now," Lila said. "We don't know which brother it is, but London is certain it is one of them. With them both here, it could start at any time." 

Eliot snorted. 

Dean frowned. Ed and Lila continued to insist that it was time, telling Eliot about the signs they'd witnessed. Apart from the usual demonic signs increasing in number, there were deaths no one could explain. Young men and women were dying in unnatural ways, and apparently these deaths were related to whatever apocalyptic event that was on the horizon; Dean filed some of the names away and hoped he'd be able to remember them later so he could investigate or get a hunter to look into them. 

"John is convinced he can keep it from happening," Eliot said. 

"John will play his part," Lila said. "Just like one of his sons will." 

Dean scowled. 

"How are you going to get John to go through with _that_?!" Eliot asked. "No one in their right mind ever would!" 

"Lennon has his ear," Ed said. "Lila's been doing her best to convince him to change sides." 

Eliot chuckled. "Lennon. Right." 

"He's the most pliable on their side," Ed reasoned. "He is the most interested in doing what is best for the whole world." 

"And John isn't?" Eliot asked. 

"He loves his sons too much," Lila said. "He will put them above the world, every time." 

If he hadn't been spying, Dean would have disagreed loudly. John didn't love him enough to put him above the rest of the world; he'd had a lifetime of experience with John's love and he knew it was nothing like what Lila was describing. He may love Sam that much, his nearly-perfect legacy, but he did not see Dean in the same light. 

"They won't be able to stop it, and we won't be able to stop it," Ed added, "even if we kill the three of them to be safe. Souls can be put back into bodies, no matter what Lennon says." 

"But, if we speed it up," Lila said. "If we help. We can ensure it happens quickly, in a place that will keep as many people safe as possible." 

"And if we pool our resources with the home office," Ed continued, as soon as Lila stopped speaking, "we might be able to find a way to stop both sides while they're in their vessels." 

"There's no spell in our libraries that can reopen the cage," Eliot said. 

"No, but when they're in their vessels, they're not immune to everything," Lila reminded him. "We have the spear in our vaults. My father saw it when they closed down the training facility. That would work." 

Dean heard Eliot agree. Instead of staying, he decided to slip out while they were occupied with the rest of their discussion. He wanted to get the book home; he wanted to talk to Mary and Sam.

###

Once the three of them were in the basement, Mary set an enchantment against eavesdropping on the room. She always did that when they were in the basement. They never knew if they were being watched but it was better to be safer than overheard. 

"What's this about?" Sam asked. 

"First," Dean said, pulling the book about angels out of his bag, "I found this." 

Sam's eyes widened. "Where? How? The angel books are all locked up!" 

"Found it in the werewolf section," Dean replied. "Not sure why it was misplaced, but I ain't complainin'." 

"No... of course." 

Dean put the book in Sam's hands. "Read this, see if there's anything useful in it," he said. "But don't let anyone know you have it." 

Sam glared at him. "I know, Dean." 

"Just---I think it's weird that it was there," Dean said, trying to keep his brother from getting too offended. "I don't know why it was sitting there, in the werewolf section, but it's weird. Did someone guess I'd be looking there today? It's not like those guys to be helpful. Especially to me. So..." 

The tension melted from Sam's body. "Is someone trying to help... or not," he said after a little sigh. 

"Exactly." 

Mary sat down on a couple of boxes stacked together. "What else is there?" she asked. "You didn't bring us down here for a book." 

Dean sighed. He'd been trying to make sense of it all since he left headquarters, but he was still having trouble. Some of what he heard reminded him of things he'd heard as a child, growing up under John's stern tutelage; he didn't understand how an event could have been in the works for so long, with no solution or end in sight, with no hunters aware of it. 

"I overheard Eliot, Lila, and Ed talking," Dean said. "They seem to be in an alliance of some kind. This whole apocalypse thing. It definitely has to do with demons... but... for some reason, it sounds like it has to do with us, too." 

Mary frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"Gordon learned someone named Azazel is gathering forces," Dean replied. "But, Lila said something about it being the time because Sam's back. Because we're together again." 

Sam's eyes widened. "What? Me? Why would I---I wouldn't do anything to end... Dean---" 

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know, Sammy. I don't see how any of it's connected." He squeezed his grip a little. "We're gonna get to the bottom of this, and I'm with you every step of the way." 

"What else, Dean?" Mary asked. 

"Eliot said Dad's convinced he can keep it---whatever it is---from happening. But they think he has a different part to play," Dean replied. "They're trying to get Lemon on their side. So he can sway Dad to do whatever it is. Sounded like a tall order, but I don't know specifics. 

"The word 'vessels' keeps coming up," he continued. "I remember hearing something about 'em as a kid. They were talking about them today, again. Lila mentioned a spear that could work as a weapon against whoever's in the vessels. And, putting souls back into bodies, too, if anything happens to the vessels before they're found." 

Mary sighed. "It can happen. I've heard of people coming back from the dead. Demons do it in their deals, sometimes. I'd believe it if angels can do it, too. Seems like they're two sides of the same coin or something." 

"What did you hear as a kid?" Sam asked. 

"Vessels got mentioned. Um. Also, stuff about a cage," Dean replied, "and the pit. And a demon named Lilith. She's stuck in Hell. Still, I hope." 

"Lilith?" Mary echoed, standing up. She shifted her weight and wrapped an arm around her midsection. "That's... she's... really real. Wow." 

"Like... Adam's Lilith?" Sam asked. "I mean, does that... who else... if she's real, then maybe..." 

_...maybe Lucifer's real, too,_ Dean thought as he gazed into his brother's worried face. 

After clearing his throat, Sam asked another question. "Was there anything else?" 

"I remember Dad saying it was all theoretical. Could be any descendants, at any point in time," Dean said. "And then I slipped and got caught." 

Sam snorted. "You? You're so stealthy... even back then." 

"Not at first," Dean said, smiling a bit. "Dad caught me. Made me write a report on the book I should've been reading. Stayed in that office for almost seven hours before he let me go to the room we shared for overnights." 

"He did?" Sam asked. 

Dean nodded. "No food, no water. Damn it, I was so pissed at him. And bored. Didn't take that long to write the report. He just wanted me out of his hair." 

"He wanted to make sure you didn't hear anything else," Mary said. 

After a shrug, Dean leaned back against the wall, next to Sam. He didn't want to rehash their past. He didn't want to talk about how John treated him when he was a child. He wanted to get to the bottom of whatever the Men of Letters weren't telling him and Sam. He wanted to make sure the world didn't end. 

"Dean, you need to go visit Missouri," Mary said. 

He groaned. He definitely didn't want to go visit Mary's psychic friend. 

"Why?" Sam asked. 

"She's a psychic, remember? I can pass information on to her without anyone overhearing," Dean said. "And if it's something in my memories, she might be able to see the whole thing, or see it in a way I can't." 

"You say that like you've let her in your head before," Sam said, after looking from Dean to Mary and back to Dean. 

Nodding again, Dean said, "I have. I hate it. But, she's been helpful." 

Sam frowned. "Do you want company?" 

"Nah," Dean replied. "You stay here, read that book. And keep away from Gordon. And be careful with Eliot. I saw you two training together. If he---" 

"I know, Dean." 

Dean sighed and hung his head. "Sorry. Just... I'm worried." 

After bumping Dean's shoulder with his own, Sam said, "I know. Me, too." 

"I'll check the Campbell family library when I get a chance to go there," Mary said. "There might be something in it about Lilith." 

"What about Azazel?" Sam asked. "Who do you think that is?" 

Mary shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe another demon?" 

"Maybe," Dean said. He looked at his mother, watching as she shifted her weight, and wondered if she knew something. When she looked up at him, worry in her eyes, he dismissed the idea; she was concerned for them and his easy-to-bait suspicion was working overtime. "Sounds like an old name. Last demon I met went by the name 'Tom.'" 

Sam nodded his agreement. "Time in Hell is different, makes sense that they'd have younger names... from more recent people." 

"Lilith... is _old_ , if the stories are true," Mary murmured. "We gotta get Bobby and Ellen on this." 

"Really?" Sam asked. 

"They've solved more mysteries than I've been able to on my own," Mary said. "Bobby's library rivals the one at headquarters. And Ellen has Ash to help her put patterns together." 

Sam shrugged. "You trust 'em?" 

"With my life," Mary replied. "With yours and Dean's, too." 

That declaration seemed to be enough for Sam. Dean watched as the last of his defensiveness faded from his stance; Dean hid his smile by ducking his head down again. 

"All right," Dean said. "I'll go to Missouri, Sam's got some reading, and Mom---" 

"I can't get to Michigan in the next couple of days, but I will as soon as I can." 

"Maybe Dean and I could go?" Sam asked. 

Dean frowned. He liked the hunter lifestyle and considered several hunters to be friends, but he didn't like the remnants of the Campbell hunters all that much. They were vicious, oftentimes cruel, and the few he'd met while working with Mary set his _everything_ on edge in a very bad way. He kept his thoughts to himself because they were family, but he knew Mary figured out some of his discomfort. After their second hunt together, she rarely made him meet with the remaining Campbells. 

"They're not wild about new people," Mary said. "I've only taken Dean there a couple of times. Next time John's away, we'll all go. How about that?" 

Sam nodded. "Sounds good. They're family. I'd like to meet 'em." 

"They'll like meeting you, too," Mary said. 

"Do they work with the Men of Letters, ever?" Sam asked. 

Mary shook her head. "No, never. Dad wasn't interested in what they were selling. Then they started pressuring hunters to join up and we went underground," she said, giving Sam the same barebones story she'd given Dean before he met his distant cousins. "I didn't marry your father until after my parents died." 

"You knew who he was?" Sam asked. 

"I figured it out eventually," Mary said. 

Dean's gut clenched. He wasn't sure why but, for the second time, something in her response set his mind to wondering how truthful she was being; he remembered her telling him what she did, using information she gleaned from John to help independent hunters in the area, but he never remembered a why and in that moment her undisclosed reason was all he could ponder. 

"I didn't set out to undermine the Men of Letters," she said, before Dean could put his thoughts in order, "at first, they were a source of information. But I couldn't ignore the fact that they look at situations differently. Especially now. If there's an apocalypse, I don't trust them to have the best interests of people in what remains of their hearts." 

Sam nodded again. He accepted her response as truth. Dean did, too, for the most part. He didn't want to doubt her; they had too much doubt in their lives already. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being deceived with half-truths, but he could shove it down deep to the place where he kept the other bad feelings and thoughts. They had work to do and focusing on doubt wouldn't help him get his part done.

#####

_He learned how to be sneakier. It was easier at home, where there were hiding spaces between pieces of comfortable furniture and carpet on most of the floors, but he learned how to make it work at headquarters, too._

_His father made it harder. Maybe he started suspecting Dean was more curious than he demonstrated, seeing through his act. Maybe his projects were top secret and super serious. Whatever the reason, he started holding meetings in offices with doors and in places Dean couldn’t get to without being noticed._

_Dean thrived on the challenge. When his father started meeting in the dark room with Lemon, Dean learned how to wriggle through the ventilation shafts. When his father started stuffing a towel under his office door at home, Dean learned that if he sat outside the open window he could hear most things but if he put a glass against a spot along the wall between the office and the laundry room he could hear even more._

_He was in the laundry room that night. He was supposed to be sleeping, but he heard his father come home from a trip and his curiosity drove him to the room next to his father's office. He hoped he'd hear something about the trip, something he could tell his mother. She always smiled so brightly when he told her the secrets he discovered._

_He didn't like hearing what he was hearing that night, though._

_"Ellen, I'm sorry to call you so late, but I didn't want you to be waiting longer than---"_

_"Bill didn't---"_

_"I tried to save him, Ellen. I wanted to leave the hunt and get him to a hospital, but---"_

_"Ellen! I would never!"_

_"I'm sorry to hear that. I've held Bill in high esteem from the moment we met. He was a good hunter and he saved a lot of lives. He was an asset to the Men of Letters."_

_"Ellen, be careful. We don't want to make an enemy out of you and your family. Joanne needs you more than ever now, and it'd be a real shame if we found you were working against us."_

_Dean moved his ear from the glass after he heard the phone land back into its cradle. He waited until his father settled in to do some work, an old record playing in the background, and then he scampered out of the laundry room and to his mother._

_She listened to everything he recited back to her. When he was finished, he noticed that she looked both happy and sad, all at once._

_"Thank you, sweetheart," she murmured, hugging him to her. "This is very helpful."_

_Dean worried about what happened to Ellen and Jo---he'd met them a couple of times and he liked them, even if Jo insisted on interrupting his time with Sammy---but his mother's arms were warm, pleasant weights around him and her words of praise made him feel like he'd done something right. It was hard to worry too much when he felt safe and secure._

#####

Dean knocked on Missouri's door after shifting the box of books---all boring, normal paperbacks Mary had been keeping in the garage for an excuse for a trip to Lawrence---under one arm and stepped back to wait for the older woman to answer the door. 

It wasn't Missouri who let him into the house, though. 

Ellen, with her soft smirk and whisky-warm voice, greeted him. "Dean," she murmured. "It's so good to see you. Is this for the church yard sale?" 

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Mom asked me to bring 'em by. Said Missouri would want them." 

"Well, c'mon in, boy, we're just sticking price tags on everything," she said. 

She held open the door and gestured for Dean to step into the house. He did as he was supposed to do, carrying the box of books into the sitting room. And then, as he looked around, he stopped walking and gaped at the sight of old toys and books and kitchen supplies on the floor and every surface imaginable. 

"Wow." 

Ellen chuckled. "I know. It's gotten a little out of control, hasn't it? Set those down in an empty space and come out back," she advised. "Missouri has the sunroom warded, in case you're tagged." 

"An empty space... right." 

Ellen squeezed his shoulder and walked past him, towards the kitchen. "You want some iced tea, Dean?" she asked. 

"Yes, please," he replied. "How's Jo doin'? And Ash?" 

"Jo's fine, spittin' nails one minute, all sunshine and smiles the next," Ellen said as he joined her after finding a place for the books between the coffee table and the sofa. "Ash is... Ash." 

Dean smirked. "Sounds about right." 

"How are you, honey?" Ellen asked. She turned around from the fridge, carrying a pitcher of tea with lemon slices floating in it, and she eyed him appraisingly. "You look tired." 

"It's been a busy coupla weeks," he admitted. "Sam's back... and Dad's... y'know. Happy to have him there." 

Ellen's smile softened. She poured three glasses and held one out to him. As he took it, she said, "You're glad to have Sam home, though, right?" 

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I hate the reason why he's back, but it's good to have him close again." 

"How's he doin'?" She asked. 

"Grieving and moping when he thinks no one's looking, enjoying Dad's weird ways of showing his affection," Dean replied. She put the tea pitcher back in the fridge; she took the two glasses and carried them as she walked to the sunroom and Dean followed her. "He's been hunting demons with Gordon, so I'm... on edge." 

"Rightly so," Missouri spoke from her perch on a wicker chair. "That man has darkness in him." 

"We've all got a little darkness in us," Dean said. 

Missouri smiled and nodded. "Some more than others, boy," she said. "Now sit down and tell me everything. We should be safe here. Cast the spell fresh today, as soon as your mother called about those books." 

Dean did as she instructed. He was relieved they wouldn't have to communicate silently; he trusted Missouri, but he didn't like anyone having access to his thoughts. He worked hard to keep his mind closed. He worked hard to keep his private thoughts private. She could probably still hear them, but she didn't act like she was hearing them; he pretended that meant his thoughts were safe. 

When he finished talking, Ellen and Missouri shared a look. Dean glanced from one woman to the other, waiting as patiently as he could for one of them to tell him what they were thinking. 

Ellen sighed. As soon as Missouri nodded, Ellen turned to face Dean. 

"John's been looking for something," she said. "And unfortunately, it's something the demons want. We don't know why, but they've been after it even more than John. Hunters are dying---not many, but enough to get our attention---and it seems like it's your father's personal crusade, more than one of the Men of Letters." 

Dean frowned. "But Gordon would tell the others---" 

"He didn't give Gordon the job," Missouri said. 

Putting the pieces together, he nodded. "The other team of hunters he's been running." 

"Right," Ellen said. "He tried to get Rufus and Bobby to help, but they told him off, of course. Got Roy and Walt and a few of the others on it, though." 

"And you think it has something to do with this apocalypse stuff?" Dean asked. 

Missouri shrugged her shoulders. "Seems a little too coincidental not to," she replied. "Demons looking for something important, they're gunning to jumpstart the end, and John Winchester's doing his best to keep it out of their hands and find it for himself?" 

Dean sighed. "Yeah, probably. Do you guys know what it is?" 

"Well, the Colt, of course," Ellen replied. 

"Samuel Colt's gun?" Dean asked. 

Ellen nodded. "They're determined to find it. Now, I don't doubt it's to kill something bad, but Samuel Colt built other---bigger---contraptions, and it wouldn't surprise me if the gun was connected to one of them somehow." 

Dean sipped his iced tea, pondering her words. Then, he asked, "Like... a key or something?" 

"Probably," Ellen replied. "That man loved his puzzles." 

Knowing more than Ellen and Missouri did about the gun---and its location---Dean made sure to keep his mind as closed as possible. He also knew he had to keep them both talking so neither of them had too much time to study him. 

"All right, well, I guess that explains why Dad has me researching Samuel Colt's movements during the last couple of years of his life," Dean said. "I spent time in the archives, in a couple different states, looking up deeds and any other source of printed news from anywhere he's ever lived. I think I have another trip to Wyoming coming up soon, actually." 

"Has anything about the gun come up?" Ellen asked. 

"Nothing explicit," he said. "Maybe Dad is using those records I've been finding to try to locate hiding places." 

Missouri studied him, and Dean did his best to try not to shift his weight under her scrutinizing gaze. "What did you find, boy?" she asked. 

"Well, he bought a lot of churches and invested in a railway company," Dean said. "I don't know why yet." 

"Interesting..." Ellen hummed thoughtfully and tapped a finger to her chin. "Have you gone to the churches?" 

"Haven't been able to yet," he admitted. "I thought I was going to the last time, but then they had me steal some witch's grimoire, and Sammy called, and..." he trailed off and gestured a little with his free hand. "Now we're here." 

"When are you going back?" Ellen asked. 

"Soon, probably." 

She nodded. "Can you get me the locations of those churches?" she asked. "I can put Ash on it. Maybe he'll find a pattern." 

"I'll send what I found so far to his private server," Dean said. "And if I find anything else later, I'll do it again. Maybe the mullet head can find us a lead." 

Smiling, Ellen nodded. "All right. You better get back before anyone suspects your errand was a visit." 

"You say that like you think anyone cares about where I go," Dean replied, even though he knew she was right. John was more observant than any of the others, especially when Dean's comings and goings were more frequent or took longer than they should. "Do you have anything you want me to take back to Mom?" 

"Just some biscuits I baked last night," Missouri said. "She wanted the recipe, but I know her too well. The basket's on the counter." 

With a grin, Dean nodded. "Okay. It's been swell, ladies. Thanks for the iced tea and the company." 

"See you later, Dean. Take care of yourself," Ellen said, waving as he stood up. 

Dean kept his thoughts on the biscuits all the way through the house---first, reminding himself to grab them, and then, thinking about stealing one to eat on the way home---and he didn't stop thinking that way until he was pulling out of Missouri's driveway. 

Once he was off of her street, he let out a long, low breath. 

John had people looking for the Colt. 

He had no idea it was in a hidden safe, in his own basement.

#####

_In the ring of light made by the lantern, Dean and Sammy crowded around their mother. He didn't know why they were there, except that she was going to show them something special. She told them it was something few people knew was real, something that might help them kill a really big and bad monster in the future._

_"So, waaay back in eighteen-thirty-five, there was a hunter who knew more about demons and monsters than anyone else," she said, her voice soft and quiet. She set a box on the table. Sammy bounced on the balls of his feet. Dean felt like he might start vibrating, too, as she resumed speaking. "He taught some of the best hunters in the country, taught them how to exorcise demons when priests couldn't or wouldn't, taught them about devil traps and salt and all the things we use to protect people now."_

_Dean watched quietly as she unlocked and lifted the box's lid and pulled a bundle of fabric out to set it on the table in front of her. Something important was in that gold material, he could feel it in his bones._

_"Back then, hunters travelled the country on horseback," she said. "I remember my father telling me stories about cowboys who would criss-cross dangerous territories, fighting evil. Samuel Colt made weapons for them. Gave them tools to protect themselves. And this... this is the most important of all of those tools."_

_She peeled back the cloth, revealing another box. Sammy groaned. He'd expected to see the weapon and another box was too much for his sense of suspense._

_Lifting the lid revealed an old gun, with six bullets, numbered eight through thirteen, in velvet casing. Dean gasped. It was beautiful._

_"They say this gun can kill anything," their mother said. "In truth, there are five beings it can't kill. But, it can protect us from everything else."_

_"Well, six everything elses," Dean muttered._

_She chuckled softly. "True. But, we think there's a spell that can make more bullets. We're working on it."_

_"Good," Dean said._

_"You can't tell anyone we have it," she said. "It just arrived today, when you two were at school, and I couldn't wait to show and tell you how special it is."_

_Sammy nodded. He reached out and brushed his little fingers over the pentacle on the butt of the pistol. "It's pretty," he whispered. "Will we ever get to use it?"_

_"I hope you never have to," their mother said. "But if something bad happens, I'll make sure I get it to you."_

_Dean followed Sammy's lead and touched his fingers to the gun's barrel. "'Non timebo mala?'" he said, trying his best to remember his Latin lessons but drawing a blank. "What does that mean?"_

_"It means 'I will fear no evil,'" she said._

_"Psalm twenty-three," Sammy whispered._

_"Exactly," their mother murmured._

_Dean didn't find much comfort in the Bible. He didn't think much of a God who would let monsters out into the world, who would let his family be broken the way it was because of those monsters; he treated the good book like a fairy tale, something the ignorant used to make themselves feel safe. However, the longer he looked at that pistol, the more those three words of Latin gave him a small measure of comfort._

_"I won't fear evil, either," he whispered._

_As he looked over the gun to Sammy, who smiled at him the way he always did when they were learning something new, he made a silent vow that he would never let evil or fear of that evil get between him and his brother._


	6. Chapter 6

Finding time to spend at the very normal Lebanon Community Library, in order to read through the angel book Dean had somehow (miraculously) found, was not an easy task. For the first few days after their secret gathering in the basement, Sam kept the book between his mattress and box spring; he couldn't bring himself to even look at its cover, no matter how eager he was to learn its secrets, for fear of getting caught with it in his hands. 

As soon as he officially withdrew from school, John started monopolizing his time. Study sessions and quizzes about the lore were followed by hands-on training; John made sure many of the Men of Letters had a hand in Sam's re-education. Any free time he had was spent trying to put together the pieces of what they knew if he weren't able to reconnect with Dean---there wasn't a lot of free time left, though, and it was wearing on his spirit. 

Sam was exhausted and overloaded. He needed a few days away from Lebanon, already, but all he was able to get was a few hours every few days. When John lost himself in work and when Mary was busy catching up on her own hunter work, Sam was able to slip away and the local library was his chosen hiding place. 

Despite balancing his time between the Men of Letters' headquarters and the family home, he rarely saw Dean. John sent him to Wyoming, as Dean had predicted, and all John told Sam was that Dean wouldn't be back until he found something worth reporting. They kept in touch as much as they could---usually through abbreviated texts and brief calls over their illicit phones---but it wasn't enough. Even after getting his brother back in his life, Sam still _missed_ Dean. He wished they had more time to spend in each other's company. 

He also wished he had some help to deciphering all the information they'd gathered. 

At least, as far as he could tell, the local library was quiet and private when it was open. Apart from a person who managed the place and a few caretakers and children after school, very few people regularly stopped in to check out books. He would have preferred the near-anonymity of a college library, but there weren't any within a reasonable driving distance. The community library was close enough to a few other public locations that Sam could come up with a reasonable explanation for visiting if anyone from the Men of Letters saw him in the area. It was his best option for a temporary hideaway. 

The research wasn't going as well as Sam would like it to go. If he'd had access to _all_ the books at headquarters, he was sure he'd be able to answer some of the questions he had. The further he progressed through the book Dean had found, the longer his list of subjects to study became. There was so much he didn't know---and what he did learn made him feel pretty uncomfortable. 

Angel blades could kill angels, but only angels possessed angel blades; archangels could be killed by archangel blades, but only archangels possessed archangel blades. There were other spells that could do the work, but one had to be incredibly powerful---and willing to sacrifice a bit of their soul, in some instances. Demons and a few other creatures could pose a serious risk to angels. They could be banished and blocked with blood sigils. But, the idea that they needed to possess humans---and could only do so with consent, apparently---in order to interact with them was strange and Sam found it hard to believe. Demons could leave dead bodies in their wake as they jumped from person to person. How could angels do something so hurtful and harmful to people? Did angels care about the people they possessed? How was that behavior a part of God's plan? 

When he shared the bare bones of what he'd learned with Dean, Sam found a little comfort in Dean's ability to focus on the positive---and a little discomfort in the hard truth Dean brought to his attention. 

_"We know they can be repelled. And killed if we get our hands on one of their weapons," Dean had said the last time they talked. "That's something, at least."_

_Sam sighed. "Yeah, I guess. But we're nowhere close to figuring out... anything else."_

_"One step at a time."_

_"Dean."_

_"I know you want revenge. I know you want to get to the bottom of the secrets they're all keeping. But, this is tricky. You ever see what they do to rogue hunters?" Dean said, his voice soft. "Because I've seen enough to get a pretty awful picture. It's not gonna happen to me, Sammy. Or to you. We are gonna take our time and get to the bottom of this together."_

Dean's words eased him off of his desperation for revenge---although they did nothing for his guilt over doing nothing after dreaming about Jess' death. He also felt relief, surprisingly, in knowing that Dean would be by his side, but it was the combination of guilt and vengeance that had him turning back to his notes in an attempt to find something---anything---that he could take to Dean as a key to their future. 

"It's almost five." 

Sam looked up from his papers and he smiled at Miss Esther, the older woman who ran the library. "Yeah, thanks," he said. "I should be heading home, anyway. I'm nearly cross-eyed, going over all this." 

"Anything you want to talk out?" she asked. "I noticed your notes earlier. Angels and the end of the world. Light-hearted fare. Are you writing a book?" 

Sam huffed out a little laugh. "Hardly. Just research for school," he said. At Miss Esther's raised eyebrow, Sam shrugged and added, "A mythology class." 

"Have you tried reading Revelations?" 

Glancing down at his notes before meeting her gaze again, he shook his head. "No, I haven't." 

She sighed. "It's a hard read, but some do it. There might be a cliff notes version. Seems like there's one of those for everything these days." 

"That... is a really good idea," Sam said. He smiled. "Thanks for the tip." 

"Now, go on and enjoy the rest of the day," she advised. 

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said. "Have a good evening." 

Before he left the parking lot, he made sure the books were hidden carefully in one of the secret compartments Mary installed in her car. He didn't feel comfortable having them at home, where he didn't have many secret hiding places, but he knew Mary's car was the best place to store their secret resources. Her car spent its nights in the garage; if he wanted to continue researching after John went to bed, he could easily sneak out and find the book and his notebook again. 

He drove home, taking side streets and looking around at all the changes that had occurred in the small town in his absence. He smiled when he saw a few familiar faces---former teachers and classmates, mostly---and he was still smiling when he pulled into the driveway to his parents' house. 

When he parked the car in the garage, he headed into the house. He fully expected to see Mary in the living room or kitchen; but after calling out for her, he found John in the kitchen, instead. 

"Hey, Dad," Sam said, hoping he didn't look too shocked---or too guilty. "Playing hooky today?" 

John gave him a lopsided smile. "Nah, I've got a late meeting tonight, so I thought I'd come home for the afternoon," he said. "Fixed the patio door and the light switch in the bathroom." 

Sam smiled back at him. "Oh. Anything I can help with?" 

"Actually, son, there is something..." 

John leaned back against the counter after he paused in his reply. Using the pause, Sam reached into the fridge for a bottle of beer. Sam offered one to John, but he shook his head, so Sam closed the fridge door and leaned against the counter opposite John. 

"Have you noticed something going on with your brother?" John asked. 

"With Dean?" Sam echoed, mostly to buy himself some time. "Like what?" 

"He's secretive," John replied. "I mean, he's not really close with anyone at headquarters, but... I've noticed he hasn't been around as much as he used to be, in between jobs." 

Sam shrugged. "I don't think I've been back long enough to notice any patterns like that." 

"He hasn't said anything to you?" John asked. "He's not... dating a girl in town?" 

Sam snorted. "Not that I'm aware of, no," he replied. 

"Do me a favour?" John asked. 

"Sure," Sam agreed over the mouth of his beer bottle. 

John waited until Sam sipped and swallowed before making his request. "Find out what he's got going on, would you, son?" John said. "If he's into something dangerous, it'd be better to put a stop to it before he gets himself hurt." 

It was difficult to tell if John were serious or if he were saying that to assure Sam's compliance. Sam tried to be reasonable---and consider Dean's history with John, especially---but he hoped John was serious about wanting Dean to be safe. 

Sam's next thought was he didn't know what John would be able to do about putting a stop to any dangerous activity in which Dean was participating. John hadn't been on a hunt in years as far as Sam knew; once he'd been nominated to manage their branch of the Men of Letters, he'd practically taken a desk job. He dispatched hunters and initiates across the country and, from what Sam understood, he rarely left Kansas to take on any sort of supernatural case. 

Dean probably saw more action than any of the other members---perhaps even more than all of them combined. A hunt could go bad, but Dean was plenty capable. 

Sam was torn between hoping John's intentions were pure and feeling disgruntled on Dean's behalf. 

"I... you think he's in trouble?" Sam asked. 

"He's away longer than he should be. I don't know what he's doing." 

Sam frowned. "Maybe he is dating someone." 

"He'd bring her by." 

Before he could rein in his honest reaction, Sam snorted again. He doubted Dean would ever bring anyone he was dating to the house, to their family. It was a shame, because Dean deserved to have someone to love _in that way_ in his life. The happiest Sam had ever been, since he'd moved away from home, had been after he'd met Jessica and fallen for her innumerable charms. He wanted Dean to have that, too. But, Mary would find them to be a distraction and John would be his usual supportive self, and Dean would hide even more of himself from his family---and probably from the world, too. 

"You'll talk to him?" John asked. 

Sam nodded. He didn't have a choice, really, and he knew that his approaching Dean could be controlled. If John approached Dean, nothing would be controlled. 

"Yeah, I'll talk to him if he ever comes back," Sam said. "Something like this... better to do it face to face." 

John smiled and nodded. "Thanks, son."

#####

_Sammy watched as Dean put the kitchen chair up against the door, wedging it under the doorknob, and he relaxed. Nothing could get in the room now. They'd put salt and sigils around the room, but Dean considered the human element and decided to barricade the door, too. Dean always kept him safe; he was safest when they were together._

_"I know it's hard when they're both gone," Dean said, his voice quiet. "But, I'll watch you, Sammy. Nothing's gonna get you now."_

_"Us," Sammy said. "Nothing's gonna get_ us _."_

_Dean smiled at him, his head ducking down a little so Sammy could barely see the happy expression on his face. Sammy liked it when Dean smiled; he wished he didn't hide it so much, but it was still good to see even a glimpse of his smile._

_"You ready for a story?" Dean asked._

_At the mention of a story, Sammy grinned. He could read---he wasn't a baby anymore, duh---but he loved it when Dean would take the time to read to him. Dean would do the voices, even using an accent for the narrator in some cases, and Sammy ended up giggling himself into exhaustion in many cases. Even a supposedly scary story would send him off to happy, funny dreams when Dean was reading it._

_"Yes, please!" Sammy replied._

_"You still reading_ Harriet the Spy _or is there something else you wanna read?"_

_"Oooh, yes, please. But can we---"_

_Dean snorted. "Start at the beginning?" he asked, prompting Sammy to nod. "Yeah, like I didn't see that coming," he said as he grabbed the book from Sammy's book case. He flipped off the main light switch, so the room was covered in dim shadows cast by the lamp next to the bed. He came back and ruffled his hand into Sammy's hair. "C'mon, get under the covers," he murmured. "We've got school in the morning."_

_Sammy obeyed nearly instantly, though it wasn't the threat of school that got him moving. The promise of safe quality time with Dean was the motivating factor. As much as he worried about their safety, he knew they were both capable of protecting each other. He knew Dean would never let anything bad happen to him if he could prevent it. He hoped Dean knew he felt the same way._

_Dean was always protecting him. Dean was always taking care of him. Even when their parents kept them apart, he knew Dean was watching, somehow. He felt it in his soul. He wished he could make Dean that certain of him; he suspected it would take some time, until he knew as much as Dean did and until he was as strong as Dean was, but Sammy was determined to get to that point so he could help Dean as much as Dean helped him._

_As soon as Sammy was settled in the middle of his bed, Dean eased in on the side closest to the bedside table and its lamp. Sammy pulled the covers up over them both and wriggled a bit until he was close enough to Dean to feel the warmth of his body through their pajamas. Once he stopped moving, Dean huffed out a little laugh and secured Sammy to his side with one arm slung around his upper body._

_"You ready?" Dean asked._

_Sammy nodded. "I'm ready," he murmured. He moved enough so he could wrap his arm around Dean, too. "Thanks, Dee."_

_"You're welcome, Sammy. But, maybe you should wait until after you hear my Harriet voice," Dean replied._

_With a little laugh, Sammy squeezed his grip on Dean's body. "It'll be awesome," he said. "You always do the best voices. An' someday, when you need me, I'm gonna be strong enough to help you when you need it."_

_"You already do," Dean said before he opened the book to the first page of the first chapter and started reading._

#####

The bar was more crowded than Sam would have liked, but Dean picked the time and the place and Sam went along with it even if he didn't understand why they were meeting at that establishment instead of one of their secret places. Sam assumed Dean would've preferred a more private audience; Sam assumed they would've talked it out and figured out their next move without anyone watching. But, Dean's text mentioned something about a band on stage and Sam figured that they could have their conversation while enjoying decent music. They'd make it work. 

As soon as he saw some of the members of the Men of Letters, tucked away in one of the booths, Sam realised there may have been more to Dean's message than he'd originally thought. 

Sam's mind made the connection before he reached Dean at the bar--- _stage, theatre, acting... oh, an act!_ \---and he was ready to perform when he put his hand on Dean's shoulder and took the stool next to him. 

"Hey, Sam," Dean said. Sam hated the way he said his name and the stupid smile on his face when he said it. He was Dean's 'Sammy,' and he was supposed to get the smile that reached all the way up to Dean's eyes. He wanted to pull Dean out of the bar for that reason alone. "See you found the gang's watering hole all right." 

"Yeah, there's not much real estate to navigate in Lebanon," Sam replied. "How was your trip?" 

Dean shrugged. "The usual," he said. 

Under normal circumstances, Sam wouldn't have to ask for more information because Dean would tell him everything. But they weren't in the treehouse and they weren't sitting on the rocks by the water. They were supposed to play up the divide between them. 

"Did you find what Dad's looking for?" Sam asked. 

Dean's glare was all heat---but it wasn’t real, it wasn't the heat Dean leveled at him when he was _truly_ angry---and he raised a bottle of beer to his lips. 

Sam pushed. "Well?" 

"It's a wild goose chase," Dean said, turning away from Sam to focus on the bottle between his hands. "His churches have been looted, his grave... there's nothing there. You're all chasing ghosts. Nothing's been left behind." 

"Maybe," Sam conceded. 

He flagged down the bartender and asked for a scotch, neat. Even though he would have preferred a beer, he knew the visual of choosing something different (and stronger) than Dean's choice would add to the division the witnesses expected to see. 

"Maybe?" Dean asked. "Wow, Sam. You almost got John's disappointed tone down pat. That didn't take long at all. Like father, like son, huh?" 

"Well, one of us should be," Sam hissed, all the while thinking apologies at Dean and hoping he knew that Sam never _ever_ felt that way about him. 

Dean snorted, smirked, and shook his head. "Whatever," he muttered. He brought his beer bottle up to his lips and swallowed a large gulp of ale. "You said you wanted to talk, so talk." 

"What's going on?" Sam asked. "You've been away more than you should be, you're not filing all the---" 

Dean cackled a low, mirthless laugh. "So, that's what this little conversation's gonna be about, huh?" he asked. "Dear Ol' Dad came to you, didn't he? What did he say? Does he think I'm in trouble? In over my head?" 

"No, of course not---" 

"Right," Dean interrupted. 

"Dean, you have to admit, it looks suspicious," Sam said, making sure he softened his voice enough for their audience to pick up on his concern. "Talk to me. Please. If you're in trouble, maybe I can help. If it's something else... I want you to trust me. You can trust me." 

For a moment, Dean's hard eyes softened. Sam almost smiled in reaction, but he managed to keep his face schooled in an expression of what he hoped was a mix of determination and concern. The moment passed in an instant, but it was enough to tell Sam that he hadn't crossed any lines and that their bond was still strong between them. 

"There's nothing to tell, _son,_ so why don't you run home to Daddy and tell him I'm just as incompetent as he thinks I am," Dean said. 

He drained his beer bottle and held it up to snag the bartender's attention. He started in on his next drink as soon as it was placed in front of him. 

"Dean..." 

"I invited you here because you said we have to talk," Dean said, "but it's clear we've got nothin' to talk about." 

Sam sighed. He knew they had to have a fight and he knew the fight had to be big and bad, but he wished he could avoid fighting with Dean. He _hated_ fighting with Dean. He had enough grief and worry weighing on his heart without adding the pain of a fight---no matter how fake---with the one person he trusted and loved above all others. 

"Dean, please," Sam murmured. "You know what happens to---" 

"Initiates who flame out? Legacies who don't live up to the family name?" 

Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'm not saying you're those things," he replied. "I believe in you, Dean. I know that whatever you're off doing, you're doing it for the right reasons. But, we can help. Or... if you can't trust anyone else, I can help. I'm on your side. I'm always on your side." 

"Wow." 

"What?" Sam asked. "Is it so hard to believe?" 

Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Sam. Why don't you tell me? Were you on my side any time when we were growing up, when John was lavishing you with praise and prizes while he was---" 

As soon as Dean stopped talking and shook his head, Sam wanted to push him to reveal whatever secret he was keeping. He'd seen a flicker of something bad in Dean's face; there was something Sam didn't know about Dean's childhood, about his relationship with John, and it hurt Sam in his heart to think Dean was protecting him from another truth. 

"Dean?" Sam asked. 

"It doesn't matter, Sam," Dean said. "Go back to your cushy life. Go be John's precious legacy. Just... go away." 

"Dad wants to know what you're doing," Sam said. 

"Dad can ask me himself." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean... come on. We have our differences, sure, but I don't want anything bad to happen to you," he said. "If you're in trouble... if you're doing something you shouldn't be doing... maybe I can help get you out." 

The corners of Dean's eyes pinched. Sam braced himself for the blow he knew was coming. 

"Like you helped Jessica?" Dean asked. 

Sam pushed his guilt aside and drew on the anger he was feeling. He shoved Dean, one open hand to his shoulder, and jumped to his feet when Dean stood. 

"How dare you!" Sam shouted. 

"Such a good legacy you couldn't even tell there was a demon on her ass," Dean taunted. 

The punch was expected, so Sam threw it. He hit Dean in his face and then he accepted the return strike he anticipated. He wiped his bloody nose; Dean licked his bloody lip. Before they could do anything else, the bartender and another man started pushing them to the exit. 

They were all but thrown out of the building with a shouted "You keep your family drama outta my bar" and a slamming of the door to act as a punctuation mark. Dean glared at Sam, but there was something that wasn't all that angry in his face. If Sam had to guess, he would have said he looked guilty. 

"See you at home," Sam muttered. 

"Sure," Dean shot back. 

Sam walked away, dabbing at his nose. He waited until he was at Mary's car and far from Dean before he pulled out his phone and sent John a text to let him know that he would be gaining Dean's confidence within a couple days.

###

When Sam walked into the storage locker, he let out a low, long whistle. He'd known Dean had another car, but he hadn't expected it to be so beautiful. 

"Damn," Sam breathed. "How did you..." 

"Bobby found her for me and taught me how to fix her up and keep her road ready," Dean said, grinning as he walked across the space. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" 

"What... this is what you drive when you're on hunts?" Sam asked. 

After a brief nod, Dean curled his hand around Sam's arm and pulled him to the trunk. He opened the compartment, propped up a false floor, and revealed a tray of weapons and tools that any hunter---and any Men of Letters member---would covet. 

"Baby's a hunter's dream," Dean said. "We'll have to take her out some time soon." 

Sam smiled. "I'd like that." 

Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "Sammy, I'm sorry I had to go there," he said, his voice softer. 

"Me, too," Sam murmured. 

"What happened to your girl wasn't your fault," Dean said. "I never wanted to bring it up, but I had to look petty and cruel and---" 

"What if it _was_ my fault?" Sam interrupted. 

The words were out of Sam's mouth before his brain---and all its worries---could hold them back and keep them in Sam's mental vault of secrets. He saw Dean's eyes widen and then he looked down at his feet; he didn't want to see Dean's face when the truth was between them. 

"Sammy... no, it... if you'd seen traces of sulphur or anything weird, you would've protected her." 

Sam sighed and moved away from Dean, taking a position against a couple of crates that seemed to be doubling as a table. "I'd been having dreams of how she died," he admitted, still looking down at his feet. "For weeks, before. Not after. I mean, after, too, but those were nightmares. These were... they felt different. But, I shrugged them off, because we don't have psychics in our families... because if you found out and thought I was a witch or something---" 

"Hey, no," Dean said, softly but quickly. "Never. Sammy. You are my brother and nothing else matters." 

When Dean came closer, Sam wanted to move away but Dean tapped his chin and forced him to raise his eyes. He wasn't scowling, he wasn't frowning. He wasn't smiling, either, but he looked more pleasant than upset. 

"Do you really think any psychic on either side of our family would've 'fessed up?" Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head. "No, but I've never had it happen before. Ever." 

"Maybe it's natural. Maybe... maybe it's a fluke," Dean said. "Scared you, though, I bet." 

All of a sudden, Sam felt like he was a kid again, looking up to his big brother. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he nodded. Dean sighed and pulled him into a hug. As he rocked him, Dean murmured the promises he always used to whisper to Sam when he was upset or scared. Sam didn't mean to start sobbing, but the grief of Jessica's death and the guilt of keeping that secret had been weighing on him since it all happened and Dean's support was his safe harbour. 

"Easy, Sammy... I've got you," Dean said, rubbing Sam's back. "I've got you and I'm not going anywhere. You and me. Same side. Always." 

"What if I could've warned her or been there or---" 

"You had no way of knowing your dreams were prophetic," Dean insisted. "If that's even what's going on." 

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. 

Dean sighed and pulled back a little. "I mean, demons can do stuff, right? We might not have all the intel on what they're capable of, but what if they can plant dreams? What if they were trying to screw with you? Torture you? And if it's not them... they have witches in their power, right? It's how some of them get all witched up. The hex bag could've gone up in the fire and we'd never find it then." 

Sam frowned. He hadn't considered either of those options. "You think?" 

"Sammy, it could've been anything," Dean said as he stepped back and gripped Sam's shoulders. "We'll get to the bottom of it." 

After a sigh, Sam asked, "On top of everything else?" 

Dean smiled. "Yeah. On top of everything else." He reached up with one hand and patted the side of Sam's face. "I am in your corner, Sammy. Like always. No matter what. If you were played by a demon or a witch, we'll get our revenge. If you've got some freaky mind power, then we'll find someone to help you control it." 

"Missouri?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah, maybe," Dean replied. "Or maybe Bobby knows someone else." 

As much as Sam didn't want to turn to a hunter he didn't know, he was beginning to realise that Dean trusted him. If he could trust Dean---and he did, more than anyone else in the world---he would have to trust Bobby, too. If he wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening to him and what happened to Jessica, as well as whatever apocalyptic event was on the books, he would have to change his way of thinking and start relying on the network of hunters Dean had joined. It wouldn't be enough to let Dean be his liaison. He needed to be a part of the action, too. He wanted to fight. 

"Whoever you think is best," Sam said. "I don't want to be a liability, to you or to the world." 

"Not possible," Dean murmured. He clapped his hand to Sam's shoulder and smiled. "So, you know Dad's gonna think our little fight means I'll be crawling back to you for forgiveness, right? You'll get me to spill my secrets… what do you think those should be?" 

Sam snorted. "Dad was hoping you were dating a nice girl in town." 

Dean chuckled. "Ain't gonna happen." 

"Well, that would've been an easy way to get him off our case," Sam said. 

"Easy for who? Us? Maybe," Dean agreed. "But, the poor girl I pick to drag into the lion's den? Can you imagine? Between Mom and Dad… man, no way. They'd have to be CIA-trained to survive that." 

Sam sighed and nodded, conceding Dean's point. He'd never been sure about introducing Jess to their parents. As much as John supported him, Sam suspected he might have received a lecture about focus and priorities if John learned how serious Sam felt about Jess; as much as Mary talked about wanting her sons to have better lives, she would have seen Jessica as a distraction to the work and she might not have treated Jessica the way she should have been treated for loving Sam. Jessica had known that his family life was complicated and she'd accepted that; she brought him to his family with a smile on her face and sunshine in her heart and they'd welcomed him into their lives. It had been enough---until he'd ruined it. 

"So, what do you want me to tell him, then?" Sam asked, needing to stay focused, needing to not think about Jessica _every_ minute of the day. "That you've been talking to other hunters? Trying to figure out what artifacts of Colt's are among them?" 

"That might work," Dean admitted. 

Sam frowned. "Maybe, but then he might want you to give up names and locations and… that wouldn't work." 

Dean shrugged. "Bobby gave me the names and addresses of a few hunters he thinks aren't on the up and up. I could give them up as people I'm trying to track down. I wouldn't be stupid enough to give 'em my real name." 

"How many of those hunters are working for Dad?" Sam asked. 

"A couple," Dean replied. 

Sam frowned. "Awesome." 

"Hey, I'm the one that warned you about---" 

"You think Gordon's one of them?" 

"Can't confirm that, but it wouldn't surprise me," Dean said. "Other hunters know something's going on. Demons talk. Or they talk enough to let little things slip. Anyone I ran into on my trip, they're assuming I'm looking for something to fight the demons… they try to get me to tell them what I know, what I'm looking for. Every side knows… they're going to start taking their own action soon." 

"If they haven't already," Sam said. "You told me you overheard the Men of Letters talking about kids dying or disappearing or something?" 

Dean nodded. 

Sam looked away from his brother and towards a wall where a map and news clippings were posted, organised in a way Sam didn't completely understand. 

"My wall of weird," Dean said, his voice quiet. "Some of the kids are on here." 

"We should investigate, find out what happened." 

"Yeah," Dean agreed. 

"Maybe that's what I should tell Dad," Sam said. "Tell him you were looking into some of these on your trips. On the way." 

"Would be believable," Dean agreed. "I mean, they're all your age." 

"M'not a kid," Sam muttered. 

Dean chuckled. "You'll always be my kid brother," he said, stepping up to the wall and inviting Sam to do the same with a hand gesture. "Besides, some of these people… haven't seen or done anything real. Still living in the dark, going to school, falling in love for the first time… they're kids to the both of us, Sammy." 

It was easy to agree with Dean's point. They'd seen too much. They'd grown up too quickly, pretending to be children while bearing impossible burdens. Those who'd disappeared or been killed, they'd had lighter lives. They were kids, still, in a way Dean and Sam hadn't been in a very long time. 

"So, let's make a plan," Sam said. "This one disappeared when you were on your way to Wyoming. You drove through town the next day, right?" 

"I think so, yeah," Dean replied. 

"Let's go with that," Sam said. "You spend your time looking at the news, looking for patterns… you hear things when you're doing clean-up jobs. You tried to keep it off of Dad's radar, so you didn't use the company card." 

Sam felt a little burst of pride when Dean nodded at him. He wanted to help; he wanted to be more than a go-between. Dean's acceptance of his suggestion made him feel like he was on the right track. 

"All right," Dean agreed. "Tell him about Max. Family dead, he disappeared. And tell him about… one of the girls. The one who disappeared and left behind her dead roommate. Twenty-two is a little young for a heart attack." 

"And we'll look into the others, with or without his blessing," Sam said. "It's too weird, now that I look at it all spread out like this." 

"I started this after Eliot waved me off the first one," he said. "Ellen brought a couple to my attention, and then I kept an eye out. It's not enough for a solid pattern, the disappearances are different, and I haven't seen any of the scenes firsthand, but… it's weird." 

"I'm the same age as all of them, Dean," Sam whispered, as he looked over more of the information and saw similarities between all the cases that Dean had been tracking. "How is that… I mean, why…" 

Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "I don't know. We'll dig into it a bit, when we have time, and we'll figure out if it's important." 

Sam nodded. As much as he wanted to start digging up police reports and interviewing witnesses, he knew they had a lot on their plates already. He knew they had to focus on what was more important and keep their wits to power through whatever was happening around them. 

A thought---a ridiculous worry, he was sure---struck him and he couldn't shake it. 

"Dean?" 

"Yeah, Sammy?" 

"If I go missing---" 

"Then I am breaking cover and going full-on hunter to find you," Dean said. 

With a smile, Sam leaned into Dean's side. "Thanks," he whispered.

#####

_Sammy waited until the house was quiet---with his father in his study, and his mother sleeping---before he slipped out of his room and made his way to the kitchen._

_It might have been easier to avoid being caught if both parents were in bed, but Sammy didn't want to wait. He didn't want Dean to have to wait. He knew enough about their father's habits to know he would be writing up reports for at least an hour; as long as he was quiet, no one would ever know that Sam snuck into the kitchen to steal food._

_He couldn't reheat what he and his parents had eaten because the microwave would have alerted everyone to his intentions. But, he could forage in the pantry and in the fridge for other items that didn't need heating._

_In the end, he managed to put a package of crackers and cheese and a scoop of peanut butter together with a banana and a couple of juice boxes. To soothe Dean's love of junk food, Sammy found the box of apple turnovers their mother bought yesterday. He carried the load carefully, moving as slowly as he dared as he negotiated the two creaky steps Dean taught him to avoid and the spot in the hallway that always groaned when he crossed over it._

_Their father set magic on the door to Dean's bedroom. He and their mother could cross the boundary, but no one else would be able to without setting off an alarm. They'd tested it before, they knew its limits. Dean said he thought their father used their hair in the spell to personalize the magic, but Sammy didn't understand how that would work. Dean knew more about magic than he did, which was frustrating when Sammy wanted to wrap his head around something, when they had to find a way to work around the spell._

_Sammy's suggestion had been to cut a hole in the wall, and Dean had liked it. Their mother hadn't been wild about the plan, because it was a little hard to hide from their observant father. She took what they proposed, though, and did some work in the attic---where their father never went---so they could climb from one bedroom and descend into the other. The panels in the ceiling were already there; all she had do was have a couple of ladders made for them._

_He went into his bedroom and closed (and locked) the door behind him. He put his stolen food in his backpack and slipped his arms through the straps of the bag as he made his way to his closet. By the time Dean's meal was secure, he was ready to jump for the cord tucked between two sweaters he never wore. A quick tug and the door swung down on quiet hinges and the ladder extended._

_Two minutes later, after some crawling over dusty boxes, Sammy was climbing down into Dean's closet._

_When he slid open the closet door, he spotted Dean sitting on his bed. His arms were up, his hands were behind his head. His eyes were closed. He was humming what sounded like 'When the Levee Breaks.' As soon as he realised he wasn't alone, he opened his eyes and smiled._

_"What are you doing here?" Dean asked._

_"Thought you might like something to eat," Sammy replied. "I couldn't get much, but---"_

_Dean eased up into a sitting position. "S'not the first time I've missed a meal, Sammy," he said, his voice soft and quiet. "I'll survive. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."_

_Sammy rolled his eyes. "Of course I did," he said. "You'd do it for me, right?"_

_"Duh."_

_"Well, 'duh' back at ya," Sammy said as he took off the bag and set it down on the bed. "It wasn't fair, what Dad did. So, it's my turn to take care of my big brother."_

_Dean nodded, his ears pinker than they were a minute ago, and he looked down at the backpack. When he unzipped it, he laughed softly._

_"You don't get to start with dessert," Sammy said, as soon as he saw Dean pulling out the turnovers. "Cheese and crackers first."_

_"But dessert's the best part," Dean replied. He grinned. "Oh, c'mon, Sammy. Lighten up a little," he said, pulling out the plastic container of cheese, crackers, and peanut butter. "And help me eat some of this peanut butter, would ya?"_

_"It's good for you," Sammy said._

_"it's good for you, too," Dean argued._

_Sammy sighed and took a cracker out as soon as Dean opened the lid on the box. He dipped it into the spread and smoothed it out with his finger. After licking his finger clean, he popped the cracker into his mouth. He smiled a messy smile at Dean; Dean smiled back and picked out a cracker of his own._

_"Thanks, Sammy," Dean murmured._

_Sammy's smile stretched. He liked being able to take care of Dean; he liked feeling useful. Dean took care of him so much, it was a relief that there were things he could do to return the favour._

#####

It only took two days for John to track down Sam. The bruises from the fight with Dean had started to fade, leaving residual ache in their wake, but his head was still spinning from the conversation and subsequent research and plotting. 

There was too much to learn and too much to do. Because of his secret workload, Sam didn't want to talk to his father. He wanted to work. He wanted to figure out what was wrong with his head, what had made Jessica a demonic target, and what the angels and demons were plotting. He didn't want to pretend to betray Dean. But, John wouldn't give up on the idea that he needed to know what Dean was doing, so Sam had to watch and wait for John to come to him. 

The only surprise in John's approach was that he brought Lennon along with him. 

Sam was in their headquarter's library when they appeared, coming to him from the other side of the table. He looked up and set aside Dean's report, while internally forcing himself to relax and smile. 

"Hey, Dad, what's up?" 

John pulled out a chair and eased down into it. Lennon followed his lead. Neither of them spoke for a minute. Sam resisted the urge to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation. 

"So," John said, his voice quiet. He folded his hands over his stomach. "Did you talk with Dean?" 

As he exhaled, Sam nodded. "Yeah, I did." 

"That when you got the bruises?" John asked. 

"Before," Sam replied. 

John smirked. "Smart thinking," he murmured. "Push him into feeling the need to come to you to make amends." 

"What did he tell you?" Lennon asked. "What is he doing?" 

If Dean had been there, Sam knew he'd have rolled his eyes. John's quiet calm was offset by Lennon's tense impatience; it had been that way when they were children, and it apparently hadn't changed in the years Sam spent in California. 

Remembering the story he and Dean had rehearsed, Sam leaned forward onto the table and looked around to see if others were around. They were alone. He looked back at his father and smiled a bit. 

"He's not doing anything weird or wrong," Sam said. 

"I hardly think you're the best judge of that," Lennon hissed. 

John reached out and put his hand on Lennon's arm. "Easy, Lenn," he said, his voice still low and calm. "I know Sam's been out on his own, but he's got a good head on his shoulders. Let's hear him out." 

Lennon huffed. "Fine." 

Sam looked from Lennon to John. When John nodded, Sam swallowed past his pulse and resumed his explanation. "It's… he's tracking strange disappearances," he said. "So far, it's just a kid whose family died, and a college student who vanished when her roommate was killed. He didn't think you'd approve, so he's been taking days here and there on his way to other jobs when he can. Interviewing friends or family… even just stopping somewhere to try to put the pieces together." 

Lennon and John shared a long look. Sam couldn't decipher it but he knew it was significant. When John turned back to look at Sam, his brow was furrowed. 

"Do you know who these kids are?" John asked. 

Sam shrugged. "Sort of?" he replied. "We didn't really get into all the information… I was trying not to push too hard. He's not an idiot, Dad. If I pushed, he'd figure out it was more than supportive curiosity. I have to let him---" 

"I got you, son," John interrupted. "What do you know?" 

Sam rattled off their first names and their last known locations. He was surprised to see Lennon's jaw clench above his high turtleneck sweater. 

Lennon knew about their disappearances. 

John nodded slowly. "Thanks, son," he said. "We, uh, had these cases pop up on our radar. Was thinking about dispatching someone to look into them. You think he'd stop investigating if he discovered someone here was on them?" 

Honestly, Sam believed that course of action would only motivate Dean to continue his quest. It even made Sam more suspicious and more curious. But, he sucked in the truth and shared a lie. 

"He might," Sam replied. 

"All right," John said. "Well, you figure out a way to put that information out there, and I'll put someone on the case." 

Sam nodded. He turned his attention to Lennon and found the other man watching him with his eyes squinted and his brow furrowed. When Lennon pursed his lips, Sam immediately thought _maybe he was sucking on a lemon_ and that thought reminded him of all the times Dean called him Lemon. He bit back a laugh and pushed his curiosity to the back of his mind. He had to look like John's loyal, trusting son; he couldn't look like Dean's suspicious, inquisitive brother. 

Lennon might have been skeptical or unhappy, but John seemed pleased with the information Sam provided them. He nodded again, tapped the desk with his fingers, and stood up. 

"Good work, Sam," John said. "Keep me posted, will ya?" 

"Of course, Dad," Sam replied. He smiled a bit. "I'm supposed to meet with Dean today. He wanted my take on some of that Wyoming research." 

John's eyes seemed to sparkle. He was eager to have Sam spy on Dean. Sam's gut clenched; he hated that John was perfectly fine pitting one son against the other and he really hated that he had to pretend he was working against Dean. 

"Good," John said. "I look forward to hearing your report later tonight." 

Sam nodded. He waited until both John and Lennon were on their way out of the room before he sent a text to Dean--- _Wanna grab a beer tonight? Without the fist fight?_ \---and started gathering up the papers he'd spread over the table. He hadn't put everything back into his messenger bag before he received Dean's reply: _Definitely. Yes. I'll meet you at home and we'll go from there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I'm coming to the end of this story (the next chapter's written, waiting for an edit pass or two, and I started the last chapter), I'm starting to think about the next story and all the possible events to choose from. I'm also thinking about characters and pairings. So far, this has been pretty ship-neutral. I'm not used to writing gen!fic, but I am enjoying the experiment. What do you guys think? Any hard opinion one way or the other? If you like the way it's going, or think it wouldn't be weird to have pairings (or any in particular you're jonesing to see), let me know in the comments! I don't promise to go along with the popular vote, but I do promise to consider it and any other opinions anyone chooses to share :)


	7. Chapter 7

_With Sammy gone to his dumb martial arts training, Dean was left on his own. Their father had nothing planned for him, which was both surprising and unsurprising at that same time; their mother insisted he spend some time in the Men of Letters library, which was the weirdest thing, so far, she'd ever wanted him to do._

_He'd gone with his father, when he left for the morning, and he'd fully intended to spend his time reading comic books in one of his secret hiding spaces. But before he could get settled, he caught sight of Lemon directing a few people who were wheeling in crates. His curiosity was piqued and he was distracted from his original plan._

_"These are all the books we requested, Mister Rawlings?" Lemon asked as they walked (and as Dean crept along behind them, using the shadows and their distraction to eavesdrop)._

_"Doctor Hess selected them personally at your request," Mister Rawlings said in his hoity-toity voice that matched his fancy pale suit and fussy moustache. "We've also added some volumes from our collection that she feels will be helpful in convincing Mister Winchester to do what needs to be done."_

_"He refused to send his kids to Kendricks," Lemon said, "so did you expect anything less than his refusal to take the appropriate course of action?"_

_Dean glared at Lemon, hearing that same tone of voice he used any time he tried to teach Dean anything. He'd been so relieved that his mother refused to send her children to Kendrick's Academy. He never wanted to go to some prissy boarding school and Sam had felt the same; the fear he felt towards the Men of Letters' school came later when they'd overheard their father discussing his reasons against the school with Lemon and another man from the bunker._

_"Quite right, Mister Lennon. It was an honour to send my son to our finest establishment but you Americans have always been a little funny about tradition," Rawlings replied. "Hopefully information I've brought will assist him in making the right choice this time."_

_Dean listened to them as their conversation veered from his father to other experiments and adventures, but after the guys with Rawlings started unpacking the books his focus drifted to the volumes being added to the shelves._

_He hadn't even made a dent in the current collection. How on earth was he going to read the new books, too? How was he going to learn it all?_

#####

The plan was simple---or as simple as plans could be in Dean's world. 

Sam would duck into the library stacks. He would try to break the wards on the demonic and angelic sections, but in doing that he would trip some sort of alarm, they were both sure so his secondary mission was to hide some books so they could grab them later. When John or Lemon left the seclusion of their office to investigate the alarm, Dean would duck inside their space and plant a listening device somewhere it (hopefully) wouldn't be detected. 

At first, Dean had been against the plan. He thought it was too risky to expose their desire for specific information; but Sam reminded him that they'd tried repeatedly through the years and it wouldn't be too unusual to try again. Sam wanted more information to corroborate what they were _barely_ learning from the book Dean had found in the lycanthrope section of the library, and if there was a chance they could get it---either from the books or from eavesdropping---he felt it was worth the risk of one of the Men of Letters figuring out their intentions. 

They needed the truth. That realisation was what eventually convinced Dean to go along with Sam. 

He stayed in his seat in the reading room, mostly pouring over all the research on Samuel Colt he'd amassed during his trips around the country. He had someone else's work---signed by an initiate named Josie Sands---next to his, and he was comparing the work she'd done to his own research. He'd had the other initiate's work in his locker for a while, but he'd never been able to make time to look at it before with all the issues pulling him in different directions. He could only skim while he was waiting for Sam to make an appearance; he could only put marks in the margins next to things he'd like to revisit with a more attentive mind. 

Sam came in with Eliot, the two of them laughing and carrying on like they were the best of friends. It wasn't much of an act when Dean glared at them; he hated the way Eliot tried to be friends with Sam and the way the two of them acted when Sam decided to play his part. With almost every fiber in his being, he _hated_ Eliot for being another dumb initiate, for everything he said and did to Dean when they were kids, for his missing that something bigger was happening that transcended sides. Sam's wave prompted a nod from Dean, and then he kept his eyes narrowed and tracked them across the room. 

"You want to grab a beer later, in town?" Eliot asked. 

As he pushed his hair back out of his face, Sam shook his head. "I don't think I can, man," he said. "Got some prep to do for my next assignment and then I have to put in some family time while I still can." 

"The next time you're free, then," Eliot said. 

Sam nodded and patted Eliot's shoulder. "Absolutely. I'll buy the first round." 

"You're on, Winchester." 

For a brief moment, Dean allowed himself to miss Ellen's roadhouse and Bobby's kitchen, where the beer and bourbon came with camaraderie and conversation and a complete lack of artifice. 

He watched them part ways, Eliot heading into the dorms and Sam heading to the card catalogues. Instead of the computer that was set up on one of the chests, Sam headed to the drawers and started flipping through the cards. Before he plucked cards out of their rows, he would look around. Dean knew what he was doing---keeping a physical record of the books, something that couldn't be erased from a computer---and he appreciated the effort. Writing a list would take too long and could risk them getting caught, so taking the cards would save them time and provide the list they needed if Dean had to turn to Bobby or Ellen for help with their research. 

After pocketing what looked like approximately ten cards, Sam ruffled his fingers through the collection and pushed the drawer back to its closed position. He nodded at Dean and walked into the library. Dean settled back in his chair and watched Sam disappear from sight. Once he could no longer see Sam, he triggered the stopwatch function on his phone and kept his attention divided three ways as he waited for something to happen. 

Lemon skidded to a stop in the door to the room. Dean looked up. He almost smirked at the way Lemon's eyes had widened and his jaw had dropped, but he decided that playing dumb would be a better course of action so he kept his face schooled in an expression resembling a mixture of interest and confusion. 

"Winchester." 

"Hey, Lemon." 

The surprise disappeared from Lemon's face as a glower settled into his features. "Why were you in the restricted stacks?" 

"I've been here the whole time," Dean said. "Been compiling my research on the Colt project." 

"Really." 

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Hey, do you know who this Josie Sands is?" he asked. "I have her research here, but I looked up the roster of members and she's not there." 

Lemon tilted his head as he looked at Dean. Before he could spend too much time wondering what Lemon was pondering, he started speaking. "She was never a full member," Lemon said as he walked towards Dean's table. "She was in your grandfather's class of initiates. She was one of our best and brightest. She'd gone on a couple of missions with Henry, when they were based in Illinois, I believe, and then she petitioned to start a research project on demonic activity, on hell gates, I think. She was working here, doing research, when she disappeared." 

"Disappeared?" Dean echoed. 

"She came in, the men managing the bunker at the time logged her return, and then she disappeared before the evening meal," Lemon said. "Her disappearance is one of the reasons we closed a lot of our smaller branches." 

Finding that interesting, as well as wanting to give Sam a bit more time, Dean leaned forward and said, "Really? There were more offices across the country?" 

Lemon nodded. "There were seven. Along with the resupply vaults." 

Dean frowned. He knew of three satellite offices. There was one in Washington, D.C., to handle and monitor legislative affairs that could affect their operations; there was another located between Los Angeles and San Diego, to monitor activity on the West Coast and liaise with hunters who worked in Mexico; the last office of which Dean was aware was the one located in Portland, but it was small and only maintained a small group of hunters and two agents. He wondered where the other four had been located---and if they'd been liquidated or simply sealed and forgotten. 

"All because this Josie chick went missing?" Dean asked. 

"Do show her memory some respect," Lemon scolded. "She was one of our best. She'd returned from an investigation into a possession at a nunnery completely inspired. It's her research that led us to come to the conclusion that Samuel Colt's arsenal is still at large and a possible coup for any organisation. If you bring us the tools of his trade, then her disappearance might still mean something... and you might help us win this war." 

Lemon sighed. Before Dean could say anything, he was talking again. "It wasn't just because she went missing. Henry had relocated to investigate. He'd lost one of his closest colleagues. They'd partnered together from the beginning. After a week, he requested his class join him. They were keeping up on their studies so their instructors decided to head in, too. They closed the office. When the board saw that they saved money by doing that, well, they closed the other four and the remaining facilities expanded their living quarters." 

"I didn't know," Dean said. 

"It's just a small part of our history," Lemon said. He glanced towards the shelves of books. "You really didn't go looking for books?" 

Dean shook his head. "No, not yet. There's some stuff in Josie's reports I'd like to confirm before my next trip, but I'll write it up in a list and give it to you when I get there," he said. 

His answer seemed to please Lemon, but Dean knew he couldn't keep him there for much longer. He hoped Sam found something--- _anything_ \---that could fill in some more blanks for them, and he hoped Sam was going to be able to distract Lemon long enough for him to run to the man's office and plant the eavesdropping devices. 

"Who's in there?" Lemon asked. 

"Sam and Eliot came in earlier, but I didn't notice where they went," Dean said. "Kind of had my nose in my books." 

He reached out and picked up the empty coffee cup. After feigning surprise and disgust at finding it empty, he looked back up at Lemon with the mug held between him. 

"Gonna get a refill," he said. "You want anything?" 

"No, thanks," Lemon replied. 

Dean nodded and pushed up from the table. Making sure to keep his steps even and tempered, Dean walked to the exit, to the hallway that would take him to the kitchen and the offices---if he continued across the kitchen and through another doorway. It would take a bit longer, but it wasn't the path that Lemon had taken from his office so Dean thought it was the better path to take. When he hit the hallway that would take him to the offices, he slowed his pace and listened as carefully as he could while hurrying to his destination. 

He thought it was a miracle that no one appeared on his rushed journey. As predicted, Lemon's door was undefended. There was no telltale tingle of magic on the back of Dean's neck as he neared the door; he hadn't given himself the time to set a spell before rushing out to find the person in the library. Dean pushed the unlatched door open and stepped into the room. He pulled the listening devices out of his jeans' pocket and looked around for places to plant them. 

The first, he stuck to the underside of the second shelf from the bottom on Lemon's bookshelf of archived reports. The second, he stuck to the underside of Lemon's desk. He expected one of them to be found, but not both. Thanks to Ash's interference, the audio feeds were going to the server the mullet-headed geek had set up for Dean, so he didn't have to listen all the time; the batteries would last for at least two hundred days, thanks (again) to Ash and his tweaking of the standby settings on both devices. 

When he finished, he hesitated behind the door and listened for a moment before moving back out into the hallway. He hurried to the kitchen, which was still empty, and he managed to pour himself a cup of coffee before Sam appeared in the doorway. 

"You good?" Sam asked. 

Dean nodded. 

Sam grinned. Since no one else was in the room with them, Dean allowed himself to grin back at his younger brother.

###

"I still can't believe you got these books out past Lemon," Dean said, laughter thick in his voice. "Man, he's losing his touch." 

He looked up in time to catch Sam's proud grin before the photocopier beeped and he was forced to lift the book and turn the page. They left the bunker as soon as they could, both of them packing up Dean's research and taking it out to the jeep, and they hightailed it to the nearest shop with copiers. It turned out to be a postal outlet; they took the books inside and started copying every single page so they could have a copy of each book for their own collection. 

The book Sam was copying was about biblical lore and Revelations, in particular, which Dean thought was odd, but Sam had a good brain between his ears so Dean decided to save his questions until they could talk safely and at length. The book Dean was copying was about prophecies pertaining to demons and demonic rites. There were two more---one about angels and one about psychic powers---and they were next to be copied. 

Dean had no idea how Sam got the books out of the library, but he wasn't going to look that particular gift horse in its mouth. They finally had a bit more information they could use to try to figure out what was happening to them and to the world. 

"He really didn't want me near the angel books, though," Sam said. "I mean, he had that face... remember the time we were studying, and you drew the summoning sigils wrong?" 

"Not wrong... just... for something different," Dean commented. 

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Well. It was the face he made when he saw the match in your hand, just as he realised what you'd drawn," he said. 

"In my defence, Lemon said the trap could hold any demon. I wanted to test that." 

Sam snorted. "Well. He was scared then, and he was scared today." 

After a sigh, Dean flipped to the next page and pushed the copy button. "Why, though?" Dean asked. "I mean... is everyone's secret plans written in those books? Is Lemon doing something he shouldn't? Why can't we know what's going on?" 

"Maybe it's bad. Maybe they're afraid we're going to screw it up," Sam said. 

"Maybe they're afraid they're gonna screw it up," Dean muttered under his breath. 

"They might," Sam said. "If what you were saying... about Lila and Eliot and... and... Ed, right?" At Dean's nod, Sam continued talking. "So, if they're really trying to speed up whatever train we're all on, that could do damage. Who knows what lengths they'll go to, y'know? What if they really do mess up everything?" 

Dean sighed. He'd wondered about that, if their actions could have consequences they couldn't see through their determination to hurry and control an apocalyptic-level event. He'd hoped that he was overreacting, but if Sam had the same thought, too, then it was a likely point to consider. 

"So, Heaven, Hell, not getting caught, and stopping whatever those idiots are up to," Dean said. 

"Yeah." 

"Awesome," Dean muttered as he continued to copy the pages of his book. 

They worked for what seemed like the whole day, but was really only a few hours. When they finished, they left the shop with a wave at a mildly astonished clerk. Dean threw the books into the backseat of the jeep, on the floor under the bench, and Sam put the boxes of copies in their folders---marked by title, author, and chapter---in the trunk. 

"Come to the storage---" 

"Bunker Mini," Sam joked. "That's what I'm gonna start calling it." 

"Dude..." 

Sam grinned. "No, wait. The Bat Cave." 

As soon as Dean heard what Sam said, he knew Sam would _just know_ that Dean had sometimes called it that, even going as far as calling Baby, his beautiful black Impala, the Batmobile. He didn't even bother hiding his reaction to Sam's comment. No one knew Dean completely, but Sam was the closest to getting a full picture. He might be the only person to have almost-whole knowledge of what made Dean tick. Sam would know by looking at him. 

A cackle of laughter escaped Sam's body as it curved back and up to the sky. He hooted, righting himself, and he clapped a hand to Dean's shoulder. The sight of Sam in good spirits was enough to keep Dean's glares and grumbles to a minimum. 

"Yeah, yeah," he grouched. 

"We're going to the Bat Cave!" Sam crowed. "Oh, man. This is perfect." 

Dean snorted and moved around the jeep until he was at the driver side door. He moved to get into the vehicle, but stopped when he saw Sam leaning on the vehicle and grinning at him. 

"What?" Dean asked. 

Sam's smile softened. "You really are like Batman," he said. "Man of Letters by day, hunter by night. Sort of. You've got the cave and the car and all sorts of weapons and resources---" 

"Okay, Robin," Dean interrupted, "would you get in the car already?" 

Sam's laughter followed him as he opened his door and got into his seat, jingling his keys in his right hand as he moved. Dean would never admit it out loud, but Sam's comparison pleased him a little. He didn't think of himself as a superhero, he felt like he wasn't doing enough to fight the supernatural forces looking to rip the world apart, but hearing Sam liken him to one gave him a little rush of embarrassed pride. He liked when Sam saw him as heroic---even though he worried that he would be a disappointment in the end.

#####

_"Why is this book... not a book?" Dean asked._

_As Bobby put a plate of food down in front of Sammy, he chuckled and said, "Because I lost the original on a hunt."_

_Dean looked up in time to see Uncle Bobby round the kitchen table and put a plate of food down at the outside of Dean's study pile. He blinked up at Bobby. "You made copies of all your books?"_

_"'Course I did," Uncle Bobby replied. "Hunters have accidents. Things get lost. Or stolen. This way, I get to keep all my resources---and resources that aren't mine to keep, too."_

_Sammy looked up from his hot dog and tater tots. He wasn't scowling, like he often was when he interacted with Uncle Bobby, but he wasn't quite smiling yet, either. "Y'know, that's... that's really smart," Sammy said. "Where d'you keep the rest of the copies?"_

_"I have two storage units," Uncle Bobby replied. "One's just on the other side of town, and the other's near where Jo and Ash live."_

_"Good thinkin'," Sammy said, nodding._

_"Thanks, Sam. I've got a notebook with an index of every book I own in the living room, you know. If you want, you can look through it and see if there's anything you wanna look at," Uncle Bobby offered. "I know it's not as fancy as your dad's library, but maybe I've got a hunter's journal you'll find interesting."_

_Dean grinned into his hot dog when Sammy's wanting to learn won out over his frustration of being dumped in Sioux Falls on their mother's way to a hunt. Uncle Bobby wasn't a dummy. He knew the best way to get Sammy's mood to change and had no problem doing whatever it took to help him have a better weekend._

_"Do you have old hunter journals?" Sammy asked, nearly shaking with excitement. "Like, really, really old?"_

_Uncle Bobby smiled as he eased down into a chair on the other side of the table. "I think so, yeah. Maybe a few from the fifties, around the time your grandpa was just starting his work. Might even have a couple that are older than that."_

_"Cool!" Sammy exclaimed._

_Dean swallowed a bite of his hot dog and leaned forward. "Uncle Bobby? How do you get a storage unit?"_

_"Why? You thinkin' of movin' outta your house?"_

_After a little snort of laughter, Dean shook his head. "Nah, but... it sounds... useful. Safe. To have a place to hide stuff," he said. "Just in case."_

_"You ain't gonna need to worry about hiding stuff for a while," Uncle Bobby said. "But, when you're older, I'll help you set up a bolt hole or two of your own."_

_Dean nodded and popped a tater tot into his mouth. After he chewed and swallowed, he said, "Can we play catch later?"_

_Sammy's sigh from the other side of the table reminded Dean that they had homework they had to do---both for their father and for school. As much as Dean was determined to learn everything he could, he had his limits and he was approaching them. The idea of having a secret place full of hunter's stuff was one more thing he had to consider on top of everything else._

_Already, his head was putting together a list: research, books, weapons, food, clothes, water, first aid---_

_"Stop thinkin' so hard, Dean. You'll get there."_

_"But---"_

_"You finish eating, then we'll throw a ball around... and---" he paused to nod at Sammy "---then, we'll do a bit of studying, Sam can find his book, we can check out the storage unit and go from there. All right?"_

_As soon as Dean saw Sammy nod, he nodded, too._

_"Bobby?" Sammy asked._

_Uncle Bobby smiled. "Yeah, Sam?"_

_"Could we go out and look at the stars tonight?" Sammy asked._

_"You wanna set the tent up and sleep outside, too?" Uncle Bobby asked in response. When Sammy shook his head, he said, "Well, that should be fine. We can set up the telescope on the porch if you want. Or just spread blankets out and look up."_

_Sammy nodded, his rare (at Uncle Bobby's house, anyway) smile making another appearance. Dean grinned as he finished his lunch. He'd been worried about the weekend as soon as their mother announced she was going hunting; Sammy didn't feel the same way about their Sioux Falls hang-out as Dean did, looking at it as a betrayal to their father and being abandoned by their mother when Dean saw it as a chance to learn more than what their parents were teaching them. Seeing Sammy give up enough of his grudge to smile and agree to something Uncle Bobby was suggesting made him think that maybe the weekend wouldn't be as stressful as he'd worried it would be._

#####

"John, someone bugged my office!" Lemon exclaimed over Dean's headphones, in one of the recordings from the previous day. "It's either your sons or one of Lila's little group---but someone is trying to find out what we know!" 

Dean snorted as he leaned over Mary's car's engine, investigating the rattle she'd reported hearing. 

"It's not one of my boys. Sam would ask me directly and Dean isn't aware of what's going on," John replied. "It must be Lila. What have you been working on? Has she been talking to you?" 

Dean frowned at John's stunningly wrong assessment of his children, but continued working and listening. It sounded like Lennon was more loyal to John than Lila, Eliot, and Ed suspected, and Dean felt a little relief and gratitude that John had someone he could really trust in his life. He didn't like those feelings, but they existed and he forced himself to shove them down so he could continue to listen and work. 

"Of course she's been talking to me. Same stuff as always---wanting to hurry it all up, wanting to get it over with," Lemon replied. "I've been pretending to hear her out, but she's becoming more insistent. She must have wanted to know what I've been thinking... what I've been working on." 

As he leaned over and reached for his tools, Dean heard his father speaking again. "What have you been doing in here the last few days?" 

"Reading, mostly. I did my calls at home---and before you ask, I checked my home. No hex bags, no listening devices," Lemon replied. "Here, I was... reading our source material on Revelations and on the First Seal. But, the only calls I made pertaining to those subjects were to Hess." 

Dean nearly dropped the wrench he'd grabbed when John cursed and demanded, "What the hell did you call Hess for?" 

"I wanted to know what she thought of their plan to speed things up," Lemon said. "She still thinks the whole thing could be avoided if the vessels are killed---but her second choice is to speed it up." 

"Killing the vessels won't do anything!" John exclaimed, causing Dean to falter again. "Goddamnit! I've tried to explain it to them over and over again! Archangels can rebuild a body and put the soul back inside!" 

"I know, I know," Lemon said. "God, John, I know. But, it's helpful to keep in touch with Hess. The last thing we need is her sending her top agents here." 

Dean listened as John sighed and calmed himself, but when Lemon admitted to finding some books missing in the library his temper flared again. John was certain Dean had taken them---he'd caught Dean in the wrong aisles before---but Lemon said he was sure it wasn't Dean. Whether or not John believed him, Dean knew he'd find out soon enough. 

"What were you looking into Revelations for?" John asked, apparently setting aside the subject of the missing books. 

"The seals," Lemon replied. "I want to make a comprehensive list. If I can see past the cryptic poetry, I can put together a list, and we can start mobilizing hunters." 

"Good... good." 

As he fiddled with the connections in and out of the engine, checking to make sure they were secure, Dean made a mental note to ask Sam what he thought the seals could be. He felt confident in his belief that they weren't discussing marine animals. They had to be something else... something dangerous. 

Every step they took in trying to solve the mystery of whatever end-of-the-world event was bearing down on them left Dean with more questions than answers. It was making him crazy. 

The sound of John's car pulling into the driveway pulled Dean's focus from the conversation playing over his headphones. He pulled them out of his ears and jammed them into his pocket, resolving to listen to the rest of their discussion when he was getting ready to sleep. Dealing with John meant having his focus on their father and on his own thoughts and emotions. 

"Dean." 

"Sir." 

John leaned his hip against the nearby workbench. "Did your mother have a problem with the car?" 

"Just said there was a rattle," Dean replied. "I had some time, so I thought I'd check it out." 

"Some time in between stealing books from the library and reading them?" John asked. 

Dean lifted his head from the engine block before he pushed his body up into a straighter position. "I didn't steal any books," he said. "I wasn't even at headquarters today." 

"And yesterday?" 

After a shrug, Dean replied, "I was in the library, yeah. Trying to compile my Wyoming project research before I head out again. I was using someone else's research on demon traps, but that came from the boxes in the basement, not the stacks." 

"If the books reappear in the next two days, I won't reprimand you." 

The urge to laugh was hard to suppress, but Dean managed it. Instead of laughing, he levelled a disdainful look at John. "You gonna take your own son down to the dungeon and make him pay for something he didn't do?" Dean asked. "Or will you finally lock me up so no one else will have to see how disappointed you are in me?" 

"Dean---" 

He stopped talking when the side door to the garage opened and Sam appeared. When John's expression instantly lifted, Dean snorted and shook his head. He swapped wrenches, grabbed a rag, and dipped down into the car again. 

"You gonna be busy for a while, Dean?" Sam asked. 

"You makin' plans?" Dean shot back. 

Sam grinned. "Yep. C'mon. Finish up and wash your hands. We're going out." 

"Do I get to know where you're draggin' me?" Dean asked. 

"Nope!" 

Dean chuckled. "Fine. Give me twenty minutes out here and---" 

"Can I help?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah, you under the hood of a car is really gonna speed things up," Dean joked. 

Sam shuffled over to where Dean was standing, bent over, and he put his hands on his hips. "How hard could it be?" he asked. "Teach me what to do." 

If he had to choose between talking to John and teaching Sam _anything_ about maintaining a car, he would choose the latter every time. So, Dean straightened up and ran through the anatomy of what was under the hood of Mary's car. 

By the time he'd gone over all the main pieces for a second time, John had disappeared.

#####

_When his mother came into the warehouse, a possessed person hot on her heels, Dean had wanted to shout a warning. Even though she'd made him promise to stay silent and hidden behind the crates, where she'd put some sort of demon protection, he wanted to warn her._

_But, she hadn't needed a warning. She'd planned to be followed. With only a little scuffle, she'd managed to get the demon into a well-placed trap, before calling out for Dean to join her._

_Their father had already taken Sammy out on a demon hunt, but he'd told Dean after his performance with the ghost he wouldn't be going out on many field trips. Their mother disagreed with his decision when Dean admitted to her what he'd said; she decided to take it upon herself to teach Dean the things their father would not. She wanted both of her sons to know how to protect themselves and how to save other people and she believed Dean wasn't the disappointment that their father decided he was._

_They'd done target practice after school, they'd gone on a werewolf hunt, and they'd helped two families who lived in haunted houses. Every time, Dean's mother would smile and encourage him with praise or gentle guidance. Dean didn't feel like a failure around her._

_"You remember the exorcism?" she asked him._

_As he walked into the open area of the abandoned building, Dean looked from the black-eyed man, pacing the confines of his trap, to his mother. He nodded. She'd made him recite the incantation for an hour yesterday, and for two hours the day before. He knew it almost as well as he knew he name._

_"Aww, ain't this adorable," the possessed man mockingly cooed. "Is this hunters' school or take your kids to work day?"_

_"Shut up," his mother said._

_She punctuated her words with a splash of holy water._

_Dean cleared his throat. He could do this. He could save the man who was possessed and make his mother proud. After a deep breath, he began reciting the exorcism._

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica," _he said. His eyes widened when the demon screamed from within their human disguise, but he pressed on and continued with the prayer or spell or whatever it was._ "Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te... cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare... vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis... humiliare sub potenti manu Dei---" 

_"No! Stop!" The demon shrieked. "I can tell you things! I can tell you why Azazel put his mark on---"_

_"Dean, continue," his mother said._

_"You have no idea what's coming! I can help!"_

_His mother squeezed his shoulder. "Dean. Finish it. Now!"_

_Dean sucked in a sharp breath and did as his mother told him._ "Contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine... quem inferi tremunt... Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos," _he said._ "Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos." 

_As the demon threw their disguise's head back and screamed, a cloud of thick black smoke rushed from the man's mouth and into the ceiling. The force with which the cloud escaped created the sensations of wind and electricity in the air around Dean; he shivered as he watched the demon be forcibly ejected from the man._

_He yelped when the man fell, first to his knees and then to the ground. Scared, he stayed where he was while his mother rushed forward. She checked the man's eyes, and then his pulse; she frowned and said a bad word._

_"Too late?" Dean asked._

_She nodded. Her smile was small and sad. "Demons don't treat people very well," she said. "It's always a risk. Sometimes they survive, sometimes they don't. The important thing is we saved him, Dean."_

_Frowning, Dean looked from the body to his mother. It didn't feel like they saved him. If anything, it felt like they killed him._

_"His soul, Dean," his mother said. "The whole time the demon was possessing his body, his soul was in there. Sometimes, he was awake and aware. Seeing everything the demon was doing with his body. You freed him from that torture."_

_Dean shivered. "Is there a way to keep a person from being possessed?"_

_His mother nodded and reached down towards his hand. As her fingers brushed the bracelet he always wore, the bracelet his father gave him, she said, "The charm sewn into it is an anti-possession mark. As long as you're wearing it, you're safe."_

_She moved towards her hunting kit, and pulled out the things they'd need to wipe down the scene of all demon-fighting signs. Dean tried to lose himself in following her instructions, but the idea of being possessed---and the fact that the only thing keeping him from being that way was a flimsy bracelet---haunted him and dogged every move he made._

_By the end of the night, by the time he was tucked back in the car, listening to a classic rock station as his mother drove them home, all Dean could think about was the pressing need to find a better way to protect himself and Sammy so they didn't end up like the guy they left in the abandoned warehouse._


	8. Chapter 8

Since scratching was out of the question, at least until the new tattoo healed, Sam could only press his hand to the spot beneath his collarbone or try to keep his mind distracted from that itch and the tickle that was beginning to build at the base of his skull. 

The external was one thing. He could deal with that. He was used to ignoring aches and pains---and it wasn't his first tattoo so he knew how his body would react while healing. The internal was harder to ignore. He remembered it, from before Jess was killed, and all he could think was that something bad was going to happen soon. 

When a cup of coffee was put down in front of him, he looked up and smiled. Dean smiled back at him. 

"You looked like you could use a pick-me-up," Dean said. 

"Thanks," Sam replied. 

"Not sleeping?" Dean asked, pulling out the chair next to Sam. He slumped down into his seat, in front of the research on Samuel Colt. "Thought I heard you pacing around last night. The ink too itchy for you?" 

When Sam snorted, Dean added, "Because I think that's suitable punishment for dragging me to that place on the pretense of grabbing a beer---even if the anti-possession marks are a good idea." 

Sam flashed Dean a small grin. "Knew you'd try to back out, ya big chicken," he teased. 

"Well, some things are scarier than monsters," Dean said. He nudged Sam with his elbow. "Seriously, though, you okay?" 

"I'm not sleeping," Sam admitted. He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. Dean had handled the truth about Sam's visions, in terms of Jess' death; he was afraid to share the truth but he needed to get it off his chest. As he picked up his coffee, he said, "There's this feeling… in my head, I mean. Like an itch or tingle. It happened before the dreams of Jess. It's starting again. I… I don't want to sleep. I don't want to see whatever's coming." 

"What if you could stop it?" Dean asked. "Whatever you see, I mean." 

"I couldn't save Jess---" 

"You thought they were nightmares," Dean said. "But now, you know they might not be." 

Sam sipped from his cup, then leaned back to look at Dean. "You think I should… encourage it?" 

"What if we can help?" Dean suggested. 

Sam sighed. Dean leaned forward and cupped his hand around Sam's wrist. "Look, Sammy, I get all the reluctance, I do, but between Lemon and Dad running you ragged on the retraining train, and all the stuff we've been worrying about," he said, "you are gonna crash hard if you're not careful. I need you sharp. If the dreams come, they come. We'll do what we can to help, I promise. I won't let you face this alone." 

Dean's words were a balm to Sam's frayed spirit. He smiled, widely and truly, and patted Dean's hand with his own. 

"I'll try to sleep tonight," he said, meaning every word. 

"Good. Now why don't you tell me what you found in my notes," Dean said. "I know you've been looking at them off and on for the last few days. Your freaky college brain must've picked up something by now." 

Sam laughed softly. "Man, you know all this better than me," he said. "I don't even know what you're looking for." 

"The Colt." 

Smirking, Sam said, "Yeah, good luck with that. Is there anything else of value?" 

"What do you think about the railway?" Dean asked. "Weird, right?" 

"I don't really…" 

As Sam stared at the map, his thoughts and gaze unfocused. He tilted his head and studied the marks Dean had made. There was something there. He recognised that there was a pattern, symmetry where there shouldn't be any, but he couldn't put it together. 

"What?" Dean asked. 

"Can we... pins and string?" Sam asked. 

"You think? Here?" 

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Let's do it." 

It could bring their work to the attention of the other members, but they already had the gun, so Sam didn't see the risk. There was only one pistol, as far as anyone knew, and it was hidden in their basement. Whatever they were looking at might be of interest, but that interest would fade. They wanted weapons to kill demons. They had other tools for trapping and exorcising, but Sam suspected the Colt would be an interesting scientific study, a guide in the designing of something more lethal in their fight against the supernatural forces trying to wreck the world. 

With the map of Wyoming and surrounding states stretched out on the table, Dean helped Sam stick pins into the paper (and into the table, making Dean snort in amusement every time he pushed metal into wood) and he handed the string over as soon as they finished pinning every location Dean had circled. 

"Show me what you got, magic man," Dean teased. 

As soon as he finished rolling his eyes, Sam tied the string around one of the pins and unwound a long line from the spool. The outside was almost certainly a circle---or as close to a circle as old train tracks could be---but he couldn't see what the five points were in the middle. 

An arrow? An upside-down house? 

While contemplating the second shape, Sam wondered if he were wrong about the circle. But, then, the tracks would form a... a maze? 

"The rails are intact, still, yeah?" Sam asked. 

Dean nodded. "Far as I can tell. Iron rails, from church to church." 

"What's in the centre?" 

"Nothing. An old cemetery, maybe?" Dean said. 

Sam frowned and traced along the circle of string with his finger. "Was there ever any evidence that a train ran on these tracks?" 

"No." 

"No?" Sam echoed. He looked at Dean. "Isn't that weird?" 

"Well, yeah. Newspapers---or what's left of 'em---just say the project was abandoned," Dean said. "The reports weren't too kind to Colt. Called him an old coot, basically." 

"For starting something that makes no sense and then abandoning it..." 

"Did he, though?" Dean asked. 

"What?" 

"Abandon it," Dean replied. "Maybe he finished it." 

"Why would he---oh." 

Train tracks would have been the best way to place a secure defence. An _iron_ defence. Iron was significant to them; the metal had magical properties, yes, but it was also a weapon against ghosts and demons. 

Samuel Colt made a gun to hunt demons. Was this... 

"Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Dean asked. 

Giving himself a shake and Dean a smirk, Sam took the string and wrapped it the way he felt it would go. 

_Up, down, left, right, down._

"A devil's trap," Dean whispered. "Son of a bitch. What was Colt trying to protect?" 

"Or what is he trying to protect us from," Sam added. "What if some big bad's in there?" 

With a frown, Dean looked at him. "What would need a trap that bi---oh!" 

Without saying anything else, Dean moved from Sam's side and around the table until he was able to reach the rest of the papers---and the book from the initiate who disappeared from their grandfather's class while researching something to do with demons... something--- 

Dean interrupted Sam's thoughts by holding up Josie's notebook and letting loose a victorious, wordless, shout. 

"Devil's gates, Sammy!" Dean said, rounding the table again. "This chick was looking for the gates on this continent. That's why our research keeps intersecting---it has to be!" 

"Why, though?" Sam asked. Before Dean could ask the question Sam knew he'd ask, he said, "No, I get why your work would mesh---it's all tied up together. Same stuff. Obviously. I mean, why was she studying the gates?" 

Dean shrugged. "To lock 'em up? Who knows. Who cares!" 

The itch in his skull was more insistent---for just a second---and Sam grabbed the notebook out of Dean's hands. He flipped through the pages aimlessly, looking for something that could help him decide if the vanished woman were friend or foe. The pages were full of information, some of it useful, some of it indecipherable, and it wasn't until he got to the last few pages that he felt like he found a clue. 

"Who's Asmodeus?" Sam asked. 

Dean frowned. "Sounds... familiar. Biblical, maybe?" 

"'The Wyoming gate falls into Azazel's game---if he can access it. Some believed it to guard Asmodeus' prison, but he is not locked under that doorway,'" Sam read. "'Ramiel refuses to tell me where he was hidden. Dagon is too busy playing with her dolls. Useless.'" 

"She wrote 'Azazel?'" Dean asked. 

Sam nodded. 

"When I found that book, I overheard Ed telling Lila and Eliot that demons are coming up from Hell and that Azazel's gathering his forces," Dean said, his voice quiet. "So, he's probably not a good guy." 

"Why would a Man---Woman---of Letters know this? About... demon generals?" 

After rubbing a hand over the back of his head, Dean sighed. "We need to talk to Henry," he said. "And get the report on her disappearance." 

Sam nodded. 

"If there's a trap around the gate, it should be fine, right?" Dean asked. 

"Unless someone breaks it," Sam said. 

All of a sudden, Dean snarled. He shoved at the table and a nearby chair. When he whirled around, he was breathing a little more heavily, his tense shoulders moving up at down as his hands clenched into fists. His eyes widened; his brow furrowed. Sam tried coming closer, to offer support and comfort, but Dean tensed so Sam stopped and waited for a sign that it would be all right to approach. 

"Can't we just have one thing going on at a time?!" Dean exclaimed. "How long can we keep this up? Can the world just back off for one fucking minute and let me catch my breath?!" 

Deciding that the worst of the storm had passed, Sam stepped forward and put his hands on Dean's shoulders. "Hey, hey, easy, tiger," he murmured. "I'm okay. You're okay. We're going to get through this." 

"Sammy..." 

"Nope, you promised me, and I'm going to have to hold you to it," Sam said. "We'll do it together, we'll do it one step at a time, but we _are_ going to get through this." 

Dean's laugh was strained, but it was still a laugh so Sam counted it as a win. 

"There's just so much, Sammy," Dean muttered as he leaned into the space between them. "I'm tired and we aren't even fighting anything yet. It's just a huge pile of mysteries, secrets, and... and---" 

"I know," Sam agreed, cutting off whatever else Dean was going to throw into the pile they were facing. "God, Dean, I know." 

"You shouldn't be here," Dean whispered. 

His words were like a punch to Sam's heart. "Wh-what?" 

"You should be back at school, _safe_ , not in the middle of whatever the hell all this is," Dean explained. With every word, the hurt in Sam's chest lessened. "I hated when you left, but I was so happy you were free, too." 

"I hated leaving you here," Sam admitted. "With Dad and _Lemon_ and the other jerks." 

Dean's face brightened slightly. 

Sam grinned. "You done freakin' out?" he teased. He knew Dean wouldn't like to be coddled---not too much---so he stuck to the ways he knew would work and kept his words light. "Get it all out of your system?" 

After a long, shaky sigh, Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about---" 

"You can talk me in off the ledge when it's my turn, jerk," Sam interrupted. 

"Bitch." 

Sam snorted and squeezed Dean's shoulder before pulling back out of his personal space. They may have risked their strained relationship act, but Sam thought providing Dean with a bit of support was worth that wager. 

Dean was right; they had a lot on their plates. Sam knew he was right, too, though, in that the only way they'd survive was together.

#####

_It was late. He knew he should be in bed, but he _couldn't_ stay in that room anymore. Not after his lesson, not after everything that happened. He tried to be brave for his father, but after an hour, he'd woken up drenched in sweat and tears and snot with the terror of his memory and dreams fresh in his head. As much as he wanted to be like John Winchester, Man of Letters, he really just wanted Dean and the certainty his brother could provide._

_Sammy knew there was a chance Dean would be mad at him---but he knew there was a greater chance he'd be mad if Sammy tried to keep the nightmares a secret from him._

_"Dee?" Sammy whispered into the dark bedroom. "Dee? Are you---"_

_"'Wake. Yeah," Dean mumbled. He yawned. "Whassit?"_

_Feeling like that was enough of an invitation, Sammy closed the door behind him and tiptoed further into the bedroom._

_"Sammy?"_

_"Can I... I mean... I know I'm supposed to be_ big _, but---"_

_"Not tonight, you don'ave to be," Dean whispered._

_He rolled onto his back. When he lifted the covers, he only moved them enough for Sammy to pick up on the invitation; when Sammy squirmed his way into Dean's bed, it was still warm and full of the promise of sleep._

_Sammy really intended to stay on his side of the bed. He could be big! He could! But, Dean reached out and curled his arm around Sammy's head and shoulders and eased him into the side of his body. Sammy wasn't going to argue against a little extra warmth and comfort._

_"What happened?" Dean asked._

_"Nightmare," Sammy whispered._

_Dean squeezed his shoulder. "I get 'em, too. It's normal."_

_"Dad says---"_

_"Dad's an ass."_

_Sammy gasped---and then giggled. "Dee! You owe the sweat ja---"_

_"You gonna rat me out, huh, you little bitch?" Dean asked, before and after two loud raspberries to the side of Sammy's head, which almost set him squealing and laughing until he remembered what he knew and leveled a pointy elbow back into Dean's gut._

_"You jerk!" Sammy grunted, punctuating his words with another elbow poke. "For that, you pay me the five bucks!"_

_"Or else I have to put it in the jar?" Dean asked. "Not sure what the upside is for me."_

_Sammy grinned. "I'll buy pie if I have the money. And, I might_ share." __

__

__

_The promise of pie---the fried, crispy-on-the-outside, gooey-on-the-inside variety---was enough to settle Dean into agreeing. He leaned over the edge of the bed, fished the cash out from what looked like under his mattress, and put it on the bedside table before he adjusted the dial on his clock._

_"Take it when the alarm goes off---"_

_"And reset your alarm for seven," Sammy said, settling back into his spot next to Dean. "I know the drill."_

_"Yeah, you do," Dean agreed._

_They both did. If their father suspected Dean of babying Sammy, there would be trouble for Dean and a lecture for Sammy. Sammy could deal with the lecture---he knew how to pretend---but he didn't want trouble for Dean. He caused enough trouble for Dean._

_"Thanks, Dee," Sammy whispered. He smiled into the shadows. "Even if you are a jerk sometimes."_

_Dean chuckled. "You're welcome. Even if you are a bitch sometimes." He squeezed Sammy's shoulder again. "Sweet dreams, kid."_

#####

A trip to the archives was in order. Lennon wasn't scheduled to teach him anything for the next three hours, Eliot wasn't lurking in the gym, and John was holed up in his office. Wanting to take advantage of the lack of supervision, intentional or otherwise, Sam slipped down the stairs on the other side of the kitchen and took Dean's lesser-known route into the storage room. 

They weren't looking for information on demons or angels, for once, so Sam was hopeful that he wouldn't trip an alarm. The only thing he wanted was Josie Sands' personnel file---her report card, her application, her references, _anything_ they could find about her. When Dean recounted his conversation with Lennon about the woman who disappeared from right under their noses, he'd made her sound like someone at the top of her class and on the straight-and-narrow. She'd written about demons and their gates to Hell in a casual (and frustrated) way that suggested she'd been more familiar with them than someone of her supposed calibre should have been. 

Sam needed to know if she'd been held in suspicion---for anything---or if she came from a less-than-normal background. After thinking about what he'd read, he suspected she was a witch... but he wasn't sure why the people within the Men of Letters couldn't recognise a witch in their midst. 

In the absence of answers, he knew he had to research. 

No alarms sounded when he walked into the archival room. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the filing cabinets that held every member's background information. 

_Box A6_ was scrawled at the bottom of Josephine Lea Sands' transcript. The handwriting wasn't John's script but it had a few loops and lines that were similar. Sam shoved the file folder into his messenger bag and moved to the back of the room where the boxes were stacked. 

After pulling the correct box from the shelves, Sam brought it to a nearby table. He opened it and revealed a few more folders and a steno book. It wasn't too much; it would easily fit into his bag. Assuming that Dean's conversation didn't arouse Lennon's curiousity, the files wouldn't be missed. 

He left the storage room the same way he entered, not encountering anyone until he started his climb up the stairs that would deposit him in the kitchen. Lennon shouting and Eliot cursing were his warning that he was about to interrupt something; Sam wanted to linger and listen, but he knew Eliot's conflict escape was to the garage and the most direct path included those stairs. No matter how quiet he was, he would be discovered as soon as Eliot stormed out of the kitchen. 

But, he knew Eliot enough to know he wasn't close to blowing his top---yet. He could listen for a few minutes. 

"Speeding it up is the only way to control the fallout, man!" Eliot growled. "We have the spear! They don't know that. We can end 'em both before they know what's happening." 

"You really think one spear is enough?" Lennon asked. "Against two celestial---" 

"If we can control when they take their vessels, and which ones they take, we can be there," Eliot interrupted. "We trap them, we kill them, we save the world!" 

"And kill the vessels in the process," Lennon said. 

"You'd put John, Sam, and _Dean_ above everyone else on this planet?" Eliot hissed. "C'mon, man, you aren't an idiot!" 

Sam frowned. Every time he heard a hint of suggestion that his family was important to the apocalyptic endgame, he could feel the heat of anger under the ice of panic as they zipped along his nerves. But, that particular time, under the fear and rage, he also felt the certainty that he would not be able to hide his feelings when he entered the kitchen and became their audience. They would look at him and see some of what he was thinking, some of what he knew. 

Before he could do anything, he heard Lennon sigh and say, "Give me a day to wrap my head around it and make my peace, all right? Then we'll make our plans." 

Sam resisted the urge to shout out, to defend his father against his partner's betrayal. He tried to make himself move, but frustration kept him rigidly in place. Luckily, he heard Eliot mutter something about going to see Lila to tell her the good news, and he knew Eliot would be heading in the opposite direction. 

When he heard Lennon sigh again, moving towards the coffee maker and pouring himself a cup of the dark brew, Sam decided it was safe to emerge from the staircase. He bounced up each step the way he usually did, and when he saw Lennon, he did his best to smile. 

"Working hard?" Lennon asked. 

"Was in the shooting range. Just trying to sharpen my rusty skills," Sam replied. "You got something to add to my list today?" 

Lennon nodded. "Yes, I think I might. Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes, would you?" 

Not knowing what else he should do or say, Sam nodded, too. "Sure. I... I'll just go put my bag in my locker and check on Dean in the meantime," he said. "See you in fifteen." 

Sam didn't wait for Lennon's response. As soon as he left the kitchen, he headed to where he knew Dean was working; he found Dean in the room most of them used for practicing their spell work, bent over a book about werewolves. 

"What's up?" Dean asked as Sam walked into the room. "John find out I'm wasting my time looking into the cure?" 

With a roll of his eyes, Sam closed the door. "Hardly. So get this," he said, moving closer to the table. "I overheard Eliot and Lennon talking. First, they're definitely applying the pressure to Lennon. I heard him saying something about them having 'the spear,' and if they jumpstart things, they can use it to kill the vessels---and I think the angels inside. Lennon was saying something about the spear not being enough against two... well, he said the word 'celestial,' and then Eliot cut him off. And then---" 

"Spear?" Dean interrupted. "He said 'spear?'" 

"Yeah, why?" 

"It's not the first time I've heard that word," Dean replied. "When Lila, Ed, and Eliot were talking, they said the spear is in the vault." 

Sam's eyebrows jumped. "The vault in town?" 

Dean nodded. "I think so. Where else would they keep something important---if it is something important?" 

"Good point." 

"What else did you hear?" Dean prompted. 

Sam pushed his hair out of his face. "Eliot asked him if he'd put us and Dad before the world," he said. "And then, Lennon said he'd take the day and wrap his head around it all. Eliot seemed almost pleased with that." 

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "I was so sure Lemon was on Dad's side. But, if Lemon's a loose cannon... that's one more piece on the board we can't predict." 

"Lennon asked me to meet him in his office in... ten minutes," Sam added after glancing at his watch. 

"I'll come. Lurk outside the door." 

Sam smiled. "You don't have to," he said. "What's he gonna do? Shoot me?" 

Dean groaned and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. "I didn't even think of that," he said. "I am definitely coming with you now." 

"Dean!" 

"Don't care, Sammy," Dean insisted. "You are not going anywhere if Eliot's talkin' about pushing the Big A." 

As he started packing up his magic supplies, Sam leaned on the table and watched. He saw Dean's lips press together and his brows furrow; he decided Dean was thinking pretty hard and it would be best to let him get to the end of those thoughts. 

Luckily, he didn't have to wait too long. By the time Dean packed everything away and cleaned up the workspace, he was ready. 

"Why are we important?" Dean asked. At Sam's raised eyebrows, he said, "They've been talking about vessels, yeah, and we know angels need a human body to interact on our level... but not everyone can be a meatsuit, something about containing the energy. It's different from a demon's smoke or whatever---" 

"A demon is a mutated soul, but an angel is something _else,"_ Sam interjected. 

"Right. Yeah. So, let's say a percentage of people can be angel condoms," Dean said, snorting when Sam winced at his imagery. "Some people are special. We don't know why. But, they are. So... what's the deal with us? Are we vessels? Or is there some other reason Lemon's hesitating?" 

Sam frowned. He hadn't considered that idea. "I... don't like that," he said quietly. 

"Me, neither. But, I remember John saying something about it all being theoretical, that it could be any descendants or relatives," Dean said as he walked around the table. "And something about saying 'yes.' I didn't understand it. I was a kid. Maybe... maybe we're..." 

"Vessels for angels involved in the apocalypse," Sam mumbled. 

Dean snorted. "This is so above our pay grade," he said. 

"Yeah." 

After a minute, Dean leaned against the table next to Sam. "So. Before we go see what Lemon wants, what else do we know?" 

Sam sighed. "People my age are getting killed and are disappearing. The churches in Wyoming seem to be a part of a huge devil's trap. Lilith is real and in Hell. There is an apocalypse coming. Hell and Heaven _may_ be involved," he said. 

"So, angels and demons and the end of the world," Dean said. "We have the angel book. We know they need consent. Blood magic can banish them. Lemon and John were talking about seals and Revelations---" 

"And someone at the library saw what I was researching and suggested I try Revelations," Sam interrupted. 

Dean nodded. "And we need to get to the bottom of your vision thing," he added. He nudged Sam with his elbow. "You still have that funny feeling in your melon?" 

With a nod of his own, Sam replied, "Yeah. Like a tickle, under my skull." 

"Weird." 

Sam grimaced. "That's one way to describe it," he agreed. He leaned into Dean's solid form for a moment, seeking and finding comfort in him, before he pushed away from the table. "It's been enough time. Let's go see what's up---" 

"Or what's getting piled on," Dean added. 

"Yeah, that, too," Sam agreed. 

They walked side by side until they neared Lennon's office. Dean veered left, to the stretch of tiled wall, and Sam continued to the door. After receiving a nod from Dean, who was pulling out his phone and earbuds, Sam knocked. 

"We only have a few minutes," Lennon said, bypassing a greeting in favour of tossing a large, brown envelope at Sam and impressing upon him a sense of urgency. "Take this, hit the road, and don't come back until I can get word to you." 

Whatever Sam had been expecting, it wasn't an order to leave town. As he blinked and gaped, Sam managed to ask, "What?" 

"You heard me," Lennon replied. "It will be a month or two. Do not contact anyone from here---not even your mother." 

"I... I'll tell her I'm taking a road trip, then?" Sam suggested. 

Lennon nodded. "That would be best." 

"Can you tell me---" 

"Later," Lennon interrupted, his voice hushed and hurried. "It's more important to get you away from here, right now. Out from under Eliot's and Lila's noses. Before anything else happens." 

"What---" 

"There's no time for explanations!" Lennon insisted. "You need to get out before anyone notices you leaving! Take your go-bag from your locker and your mother's car. If you can switch cars after putting some distance between you and Lebanon, that would be best. Oh, and throw out your phone." 

Before Sam could even try to ask another question, Lennon was moving around his desk and nudging Sam towards the doorway. There was nothing else to be said or done; Sam had no choice but to go along with Lennon's prodding. He fully expected to run into Dean, but he wasn't tucked into the alcolve anymore. A marked penny on the ground---part of their secret code---told Sam he was fine but had to move. 

"Should I text you or anything?" 

"Absolutely not," Lennon replied, his voice close to a whisper. "I will use a spell to contact you when it's safe." 

Sam nodded. He doubted Lennon saw the response; Lennon was disappearing down a corridor that would take him further into the facility before Sam even noticed they'd separated. After a little sigh, Sam went to the lockers and found his bag. He took anything he thought he might need---in case he _really_ wasn't returning---and headed towards the main rooms and the stairs. 

As soon as he stepped out into the sunshine, he stuttered to a stop. His training had carried him through the moment but his mind was finally catching up and he was having trouble processing what had happened. Lennon might not be in the process of betraying his partnership with John; Lennon seemed to care enough to get one of them out from under the watchful eye of the rest of the Men of Letters. Sam found that startling, especially since everyone---Lennon included---seemed glad that Sam had returned to the organisation. 

Was what was happening so dangerous that Lennon didn't trust him to participate? Or, was what was happening so dangerous that Lennon didn't think Sam would survive? 

When Sam shook his head, still full of thoughts and questions, he realised Dean's jeep was idling in front of him. He moved to the passenger side door and opened it. 

"What are you---" 

Dean snorted. "Do you really think I'm going to let you hit the road alone?" he asked. "Get in. We're stopping at home, telling Mom and loading up, and then we're blowing this popsicle stand." 

"We are?" 

"Yep. Gonna get to the bottom of what's going on," Dean said, nodding. "You and me. Let's go before someone realises Lennon told you to run." 

Sam slid into the seat and closed the door. 

“You’re sure about this?” Sam asked. “Dad won’t be thrilled to learn we’ve both run away.” 

“Sammy, if you think I’m leaving you to fend for yourself, you’re delusional,” Dean said. He shifted the car into gear and eased forward, towards the road that would take them into town. “We’ll tell her to tell him you needed to get away, to grieve, and I wouldn’t let you go alone. We’ll keep in touch when we get our situation straightened out---and our phones de-GPS'd---and as far as he’ll know, we’re seeing the sights and getting your head on straight.”

After a snort, Sam said, “You know he’ll look for us.” 

“You, and yeah, but I’m also hoping he’s gonna be so busy with this apocalypse crap that he’s not as driven as he usually is,” Dean said. 

With the jeep turning onto the road and towards their family home, Sam’s need to argue Dean’s decision faded. Neither of them knew why Lennon pushed Sam out the door, but Sam knew he had a reason. He’d seen the urgency in Lennon’s face and body language. He’d heard it in Lennon’s voice. Whatever the reason was, Sam didn’t want to face it without his brother.

###

To say Mary was fine with their leaving was an overstatement. While she’d been relieved that her sons were getting out from under the Men of Letters’ collective thumb, she was worried about them being alone, without support, and she did not like that something put Lennon so on edge that he felt he needed to get Sam away from Kansas. 

They packed as they went over their cover story, as they planned information drops, as they discussed who they could trust and who they needed to avoid. Dean said they’d make South Dakota their base of operations, so they’d be close to Bobby if they weren’t staying with him and so they wouldn’t be too far from home when they weren’t on the road. Although Sam wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome at Bobby’s house, he knew Dean trusted him and he also knew they needed someone else in their lives they could trust---someone who could have their backs as they worked through everything they had on their metaphorical plates. His agreement earned him a nod from Dean and a relieved smile from Mary. 

The only thing they didn’t tell her was they were taking a few detours. 

First, they stopped at Dean’s storage unit so he could get the car. They put their bags in the trunk on top of the weapons, and Sam drove the jeep all the way to their next stop with Dean following behind him.

Their second stop was Missouri’s house, in Lawrence, where they left the Impala and caught her up on (almost) everything they knew. 

Third, they drove in the jeep to the outskirts of town, where Henry lived. 

It had been a while since Sam had seen his grandfather. He greeted Dean with familiarity and a brief hug; he greeted Sam with wide eyes and a grin before he pulled Sam into a hug that lasted longer than Sam expected it to last. 

“Sam! It’s so great to see you!” Henry exclaimed. “Mary mentioned you were back, the last time we talked, but I didn’t expect to see you so soon. How are you?” 

“Getting better,” Sam replied. “Being home helps.” 

“Of course. Come in, come in,” Henry said. He stepped out of the doorway and let Sam and Dean into the foyer of his home. “I don’t have any food ready to go, but---” 

“Oh, you don’t need to go to any trouble,” Sam interrupted. “We just… well, we really just want to talk with you about something.”

Henry nodded and brushed a hand over his head of thin, white hair. “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Anything for my grandsons. Come in, take your shoes off, and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll put the kettle on.” 

They worked through small talk over tea with a dash of bourbon, but when Dean brought up the reason for their visit, the dash became more of a double dollop. Sam hated putting a frown on Henry’s face; he hated reminding Henry of darker times. If they didn’t feel like Josie’s disappearance was a clue, they wouldn’t have pushed, but it was a clue---there were too many coincidences for it not to be---and they had to find out what happened before they disappeared from the Men of Letters’ radar. 

“She was my partner for our outings, our… training expeditions,” Henry said. He smiled a little. “I didn’t grow up in the life like you two did. It took them a few years to find me. She was brought in at the same time. The officers thought a woman might help us get into places, to investigate, where men weren’t necessarily welcome.” 

“She was… very thorough in her research,” Dean said. “I’ve been using some of her reports to corroborate my own work.” 

As his smile stretched, deepening wrinkles and lightening his eyes, Henry nodded. “She worked hard. The men didn’t like having her there, at first, and she didn’t want to give them a reason to expel her,” he said. “On one of our trips, she admitted that she was tired, having to work twice as much for half the credit, but she wouldn’t stop. She wanted to make a difference. 

“After we returned from our last outing… she became… well, possessed, I would’ve said, if I didn’t know better,” Henry continued. “Her research on gates to Hell blew even the British officers’ work out of the water. Everyone was impressed. She could transcribe Enochian better than anyone in our class… she… she was a force of nature.” 

Dean nodded. “That’s the work I was looking at,” he said. “Cross-referencing on Colt brought her research to my attention." 

"Ahh… yes," Henry said. "I understand now. Have you found where Colt left the pistol yet?" 

"No, not yet," Dean replied. "I think I might be zeroing in on it, but Lennon mentioned that she disappeared, and---" 

"You have questions?" Henry asked. 

After another nod, Dean said, "Yes, sir. Well. Mostly, it's just one question." 

"What happened?" 

Dean smiled. "Got it in one, sir," he said. 

Henry leaned back in his chair, cradling his cup of tea between his hands. "Honestly… I don't think I'll ever know. A few times, I thought I'd come close to figuring it out, but..." his words faded as he spread his fingers away from his mug for a moment. "Nothing was out of place in her room, except for an angelic weapon. We thought maybe an angel had come to attack her, but there was no sign of struggle---and no reason for a celestial being to confront her." 

As his gaze flickered between his brother and his grandfather, Sam asked, "Angelic weapon? Like... one of their blades?" 

"More like something that resembled Michael's Lance," Henry said. "According to the lore, it was created to kill an angel's enemies efficiently, but would kill Michael's enemy painfully and slowly."

Dean snorted. "Fun." 

Sam smiled at Dean, briefly, trying to act more entertained than anything else. "That's... amazing. I wonder where she found it. Are there... Enochian engravings, or... I mean, there has to be a spell on it, right? What is it made of?" 

With a scowl that deepened the lines around his eyes, Henry looked from Dean to Sam. "The _home office_ insisted it be locked away and all but wiped from our records," he said. "They said it was too valuable. No argument." 

"Damn it," Sam muttered, pushing his hair back off of his face. If they couldn't get their hands on the spear, he'd hoped information about its construction or function could help him protect himself and Dean. Not getting any of that knowledge was a blow to his fragile hope. He looked up and forced himself to smile. "It just sounds so cool, y'know? How often do we get something like that?" 

Henry's displeasure melted into a smile. "True," he agreed. "Maybe you can convince your father to take you to there." 

Dean nodded. "Sam, you'll be able to get in there no problem, then," he said. "Maybe you'll fill me in when I get back." 

Henry frowned. "You're leaving town again?" 

With another nod, Dean said, "I have to get back to Wyoming soon," he said. "Haven't found the Colt yet." 

"Josie once hypothesized that the pistol could open a Hell Gate," Henry said as he stared off into space, seemingly wrapped up in his memories. "I thought it sounded crazy, but the more she looked into his history... she eventually convinced me. Made sense, to have a key that was something else---something dangerous."

"No one ever proved it?" Dean asked. 

Henry shook his head. "I'd tried, but there was no sign of the gun after a few rumours. We thought the Campbells had it, but..." 

Sam wracked his brain for a memory of his mother telling him of her family's dealings with the Men of Letters; all he could recall was her extreme dislike of their methods and of their existence. 

"The second rebellion. The one in the sixties?" Dean asked. 

Nodding, Henry frowned. "We were thorough. It's kept most hunters in line ever since." 

The idea that Dean could ever be on the wrong end of one of those quellings sent Sam's pulse skittering through his veins. _That was unacceptable._ Sam forced himself to stay on topic, to remain focused; they needed to gather as much information as they could before they were cut off from the rest of the group. 

"And they're the last ones to have it?" Sam asked. 

"A hunter who used to work for us. He'd admitted to having it," Henry said, clarifying events for Sam and Dean. If he thought there was anything unusual about their line of questioning, Henry wasn't sharing his opinion on the matter. "He'd said he'd kept it locked in a safe. And someone came in, stole it, and said it would be with a hunter in Lawrence. He'd said he'd won it in a poker game, from one of the Campbell kids. Ten or fifteen years before he let it go with the stranger. There should be a sketch with the report, for what good it will do." 

Dean smiled a bit. "Actually, that might really help," he said. "Thank you. Really." 

"If it were one of the Campbells---" 

"Then, I might get an identity. They might still have a safety deposit box or secret bolthole or something," Dean reasoned. 

After thinking for a moment, Henry nodded. "You're right. You have a head for investigation, Dean," he said, smiling a little. "When you make some progress on this hunt, you'll stop in and let me know what you've uncovered?" 

"Of course," Dean said. He grinned. "Dying to know what happened to the Colt, huh?" 

"It's one of our greatest unsolved mysteries!" Henry exclaimed after another nod and a little laugh. "We've tried casting spells to find it. We've run down as many sources as we could in our time. And still, it remains hidden! Even if it were broken down into parts or without ammunition, we should have found it by now. As much as I would love to know what happened to Josie, I would also very much like to know what happened to the pistol." 

"Well, when I have anything to share, I'll come by," Dean said. 

When Henry went off in search of some of his old notebooks, Sam finally dared to level a serious look at Dean. _What are we going to do?_ and _do you think it was Mom's father who stole the Colt?_ and _you can't honestly think this is a good idea_ were all in the forefront of his mind; he had no idea if Dean understood any of what he was thinking. 

"We need to know who took it," Dean said quietly. "We need to know for---" 

Sam assumed the end of his sentence was going to be _for Mom, to make sure she's safe_ or something along those lines. He agreed with Dean, but he didn't know if they could afford to backtrack on their escape from Lebanon. 

"We need to get a look at that spear, too," Dean added, his voice even more quiet than before. "Just can't decide if sooner is better than later." 

"If we can get it tonight…" Sam said. 

Dean nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. For now, they just think we're playing hooky, but later---" 

"Found my notes!" Henry declared as he re-entered the room. Dean and Sam shared a quick nod before Dean became Henry's grandson. "Most of it is is in the official reports, but maybe something in my scribbles will help." 

Sam smiled as Dean took the books, his hold careful and gentle. He looked down at them like they were precious. When he looked back up at Henry, Dean thanked him and promised to take care of them. 

"I know you will," Henry said. He squeezed Dean's shoulder. "I trust you." 

For some reason, Sam had assumed Dean's relationship with Henry was nothing more than an act. He'd figured whatever poisoned the father-son bond Dean should have had with John had done the same with the grandfather-grandson bond, and that Henry gave him as hard a time as John did while Dean put up with it all for information. However, watching the two of them interact was eye-opening. He could see that the relationship Dean and Henry had was affectionate and mostly honest. Sam had never bonded with Henry as much; he'd been busy with all his studies until he'd gone to university for more studying, while Dean had obviously made it his mission to connect with Henry when he'd been stuck in Lebanon. He was jealous; he was also glad for Dean.

#####

_As his mother rubbed the oily rag over the pieces of the gun, Sammy did his best to commit each action to memory. She'd told him that he would be responsible for taking care of it when he was old enough and skilled enough to keep it safe. He took his future duties very seriously. They were entirely too important if he and Dean wanted to be safe._

_"Why hasn't anyone found it yet?" Sammy asked, his voice whisper soft._

_She smiled at him. "Look at the box," she said. When he did, he saw the markings and recognised them from the spell books Lemon made him read. "That sigil is for invisibility from spirits," she said, pointing to one of the symbols painted on the metal of the box. "And that one," she continued, pointing to another symbol that had streaks of brownish-red through its paint, "hides it from anyone who doesn't have that blood in their veins. It's my blood. So you and Dean can see it, because my blood is in your blood."_

_With that information, spells and symbols suddenly meant_ more _. Sammy couldn't wrap his head around all the possibilities that could come from mixing one's blood with a magical symbol. He couldn't find the words to express his thoughts so he had to settle for staring up at his mother with wide eyes and an open mouth._

_"Hunters know stuff, too," she said, smirking before leaning forward and kissing the top of his head._

_"Yeah, I know," Sammy mumbled. His cheeks felt warmer than usual. He knew his mom was smart, but... his father said the Men of Letters were the smartest. He didn't know who was right anymore. "You know lotsa stuff," he added, hoping to soothe any hurt he might have caused._

_"It's all to keep us safe, Sammy," she murmured. She set one piece of the gun down and picked up another. As she cleaned it in the cloth, she added, "You, Dean, and me… we're all we've got. So we need all the information we can find."_

_Nodding, Sammy said, "And weapons. Just in case."_

_"Exactly," she agreed._

_"Mom? Where did this gun… where did you find it?" he asked._

_His mother continued to work as she answered his question. "After we moved to Lawrence… a hunter came to our house. He was… maybe a little younger than your dad and I are now. Now, my family, we still did a bit of hunting, but we were in hiding. We had different names before we were hiding---and this hunter knew them and our new names. Dad didn't trust him, but my mother did... and I did, too._

_"He was hunting a demon. At first, I thought he was after me---or after your dad. We'd already met then. But, it turns out, he thought one of us was in danger. Even though your dad was already a Man of Letters, he didn't know I knew about all this stuff, and the hunter still wanted to help. He said the demon was after his family, but he wouldn't let the monster get anyone else, if he could help it," she explained._

_"Did he help?" Dean asked._

_"He kept me and your father safe," she said. "But the demon still killed my parents."_

_Sammy frowned. He didn't know what to do or say, but he knew he had to act... somehow. He put his hand on his mother's arm. "I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered. "That had to be tough."_

_She nodded. "It was... but I had your father and my mission," she said. "And now, I have you and Dean."_

_"You're okay?"_

_"I am, sweetheart," she murmured._

_"Um... that hunter. He had the gun?" Sammy asked when he couldn't see any sign that she was lying to him._

_His mother nodded again. "He did. He had a book with him, he said he'd been tracking it for years, and he thought he knew where it was. When he came back, he admitted he'd told its owner where to find it, but I'd already agreed to move to Lebanon with your dad... and I knew how special the Colt is from stories my dad told me when he was tucking me into bed when I was little like you," she said. "Instead of returning it, I sent it to someone in this box, telling them to keep it safe until I ask for it back. I know we're only as good as our word, and I may have made that man a liar, but I also know that gun is too important to be in the Men of Letters' clutches."_

_"So we keep it hidden?" Sammy whispered._

_"So we keep it hidden," his mother repeated._

#####

After two days and way too many miles, Sam finally felt like he could breathe. He watched Dean play an imaginary set of drums on the steering wheel of his car, grinning over at him every few seconds, and Sam started to feel like smiling and joining in on the celebration Dean seemed to think he should have. 

"C'mon, Sammy, lighten up!" Dean ribbed. "We got the spear, we found the police report, we got away clean, and we're on our way to a safe place to rest our heads." 

Sam snorted and shook his head. "And you're not curious about why the police sketch looks a lot like you?" 

"Guess the powers that be thought the world could handle two of this handsome mug," Dean replied. "We've all got doppelgangers, right? Besides, it's not like it's _me_. As far as I know, anyway." 

"Dean..." 

"We'll jump off that bridge when we get to it, all right?" Dean said. "We just escaped. We are _free_. Of Dad and that place. Even if it's only for a little while. I want---" 

"Me, too," Sam interrupted. 

Dean laughed. "You don't even know what I was gonna say." 

"You and me, against the world, figuring out how to prevent the end?" Sam suggested, instead of saying anything sappier that could bring down the mood in the car's cab. "Hustling pool and breaking hearts in between disasters?" 

"What do you know about hustling pool?" Dean asked. 

Grinning, Sam said, "It can pay for a night's drinks and then some if done properly." 

"And here I thought you were all straight-laced and studying until your eyes bled," Dean commented. The song changed from one old rock classic to another, and Dean resumed thumping his hands on the steering wheel. "We'll have to do some stuff like that sometimes," he added, between percussion riffs. "I have my emergency card---and an account with a bit set aside for hunt expenses---but I don't want to create a paper trail." 

Sam nodded. "I still have the card Mom gave me. The escape hatch," he said, smiling a little when he remembered that conversation with Mary and how weird it had been at the time to try to wrap his head around needing an escape. "We'll be okay. What do free hunters do?"

"Credit card fraud, mostly, from what I can tell," Dean replied. "Let's keep that as a last resort. We can probably get day work on construction crews and in scummy bars. Just picking up what we can, when we can. Sound good?" 

With another nod, Sam smiled. "Yeah." 

"So. I, uh, think... look, we've got the research and spear and the Colt's safe with Mom... how about we take a few days and find our new footing. Stop at Bobby's, grab a case, and just do our best. Figure out what works and what doesn't---for us. What do you think?" 

"Gotta get me trained up, huh?" Sam asked, still smiling. 

"Gotta get us both trained up," Dean replied. "I have to learn how to work with a partner, too, y'know. Plus, I'm not... I don't know everything. I get my ass kicked plenty." 

Sam snorted, but he appreciated Dean's words. He knew he had theoretical knowledge, but his practical knowledge was lacking. Dean, saying what he said, took the sting out of his perceived failings. 

"I've seen some of the bruises." 

Dean chuckled. "That's some of it, yeah."

"Do I need to get my first aid qualifications renewed?" Sam asked. 

"Hunting is a full-contact sport, Sammy." 

He turned to look at Dean and narrowed his eyes as headlights approached from one of the intersecting roads on their interstate route. "I'll get a cup," Sam quipped. "Maybe a helmet and shoulder pads, too." 

Dean cackled. "Sounds good. You'd make a good linebacker with a bit more muscle on your lanky frame," he teased. 

It took Sam longer than it should have to realise what the bright lights were doing---getting closer and not stopping, even when Dean drove past the road when the road ended with a stop sign---because he'd been laughing at Dean's attempt at humour. A second after impact, its jarring force was registering before Sam's head learned what sort of impact the window could make on his skull. He thought he shouted, but he couldn't be sure. Everything hurt and everything was loud…

...until everything went _quiet._

Sam groaned. He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt but his arm wasn't cooperating. 

"Dean? Dean!" Sam hissed. He bit back another groan and a curse. "Wake up!" 

Dean didn't react. Sam prayed that his silence meant he was unconscious and not dead; even though the other vehicle had driven straight for Dean, he couldn't entertain the idea that Dean was dead. Dean couldn't leave Sam behind. It wasn't in his nature. He fought tooth and nail to be Sam's support system, through everything life and the Men of Letters threw at them. Dean _was not_ dead. 

At the first sound of boot on road shoulder gravel, Sam's heart skipped a beat. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, listening for more footsteps. They were slow, maybe even cautious---but they were steady. They sounded like the driver was taking stock of everything in front of him; they didn't sound like the driver was shocked or regretting whatever happened. Either it was an accident and the driver was as cool as a cucumber or it was an attack at the driver was checking to see if there were survivors. 

The itch in Sam's skull, which had been dormant since he and Dean found the spear and booked it towards Kansas' border, flared to life. 

The driver's boots were on the asphalt. He could hear the scuff of their soles on the smoother, unyielding surface. 

_No, no, no! Not now!_

He didn't want to turn his head and give up the game of looking dead. His need to know who attacked them lost to his desire for the driver to assume he'd done his job; he remained still and quiet, trying to keep his breathing calm and even. The itch intensified and he tried praying, silently, again. 

"Got it done. Hit the vessel hard. No movement inside, from either of them." 

Eliot's rough voice didn't do quiet very well. As soon as Sam heard the voice, speaking into what Sam was sure was a phone, he recognised it. 

"Yes, I'll check for pulses. I'm not stupid. I know we only have one shot at this!" Eliot hissed. 

Sam tried to stretch towards the glove compartment. He knew Dean kept a gun in there; he'd seen him tuck it into the space when they left the vault. If he could just open the hatch and curl his fingers around it, he could protect them. 

But, he couldn't reach the fastening on the compartment without trying to lean forward. 

Eliot took a couple more steps towards the car, with more speed than before, and Sam knew he had to move. As soon as he heard the telltale _click-click-whoosh_ of Eliot's favoured knife, he opened his eyes and tried to launch himself forward, struggling to free himself of debris and his _stupid_ seatbelt. 

Eliot stepped back, towards the back of the car, and Sam thought he was moving to keep himself hidden until he saw Eliot advancing on Dean. 

"No!" Sam shouted. 

The itch in his head blossomed into something for which Sam couldn't find the words. It wasn't like his dreams, something that came and went with a headache and a few visual flashes; it was more than an ache, the feeling bursting out from even his fingertips as the new something swelled and pulled and pushed. 

Eliot flew through the air and landed on the pavement, almost fifty feet away from the car. He didn't move, which was good, because Sam was so shocked he couldn't do more than stare and try to breathe through everything he was feeling. 

He tried to stay alert---Dean needed a hospital and he probably did, too, judging by the throb in his arm---but he felt himself drifting. 

Between the in-and-out moments, he thought he heard another voice. An unfamiliar voice. 

_"I did what I can without being obvious. The rest is up to them."_

And then there was another voice. 

_"The ambulance is on its way. Just hold on. Both of you."_

Sam tried. He wanted to know who his saviors were, he wanted to warn them that Eliot was still out there, somewhere, and he wanted to look at Dean. But, all of those wants were too far outside his grasp. 

Darkness, though, was right there, ready to swallow him up and blot out every thought and concern in his mind. He tried to fight it; he was no match for its power and he sank into it even as he struggled to stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was a dick move, ending the story like that. But, there will be more. I hope.


End file.
